


All Pain, No Gain ~ Dick Grayson Whump Bingo

by kapiushon17



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson-centric, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26418604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kapiushon17/pseuds/kapiushon17
Summary: I've decided to try my hand at some Dick Grayson Whump...Read and find out;)Currently on hiatus
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Wally West, Dick Grayson/Wally West, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 97
Kudos: 229





	1. Prompts/Requests

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only going to tag the characters which are actually important for the plot, because it would kind of get out of hand otherwise. If that is bothering anyone, lemme know and I'll change it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I wanted to add my share to the Dick whump that's already out there (and make it extra whumpy)...;-)  
> Sadly, I have no idea about how to create one of those fancy bingo cards, so if anyone's got some advice, I'd be grateful!  
> Anyway, here it comes... Enjoy!

So, here are my prompts… There are 16 of them, so you can at least imagine them in a square ;-)

1\. ~~Kidnapping~~  
2\. ~~Rope Burns~~  
3\. ~~Buried Alive~~  
4\. Electrocution  
5\. **~~Take Me Instead~~**  
6\. Whipping  
7\. ~~Mission Gone Wrong~~  
8\. ~~Left For Dead~~  
9\. **~~Sleep Deprivation~~**  
10\. ~~Bruises~~  
11\. ~~Hiding An Injury~~  
12. **~~Refuse To Fight Back~~**  
13\. ~~Torture~~  
14\. ~~Passing Out From Pain~~  
15\. **~~Water Torture~~**  
16\. ~~Kick Them While They’re Down~~

~~Meaning that the prompt has been requested...~~

**~~Meaning that the prompt is written...~~ **

A few guidelines:  
You can basically request any characters from the comics, animated movies/series and Titans (TV-show). Focus should stay on Hurt Dick though...  
I won’t write explicit sexual content. Relationships of any kind are fair game, but no Batcest except JayDick.  
I would prefer Dick as Nightwing or Batman... But if you request other things, I won’t complain either ;-)  
For now, updates will be every/every second weekend, depending on how many other things I have going on. The chapters will be posted in order of the requests.

With that being said... Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indulge yourselves:-)


	2. Sleep Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TokiNoKusabi asked: Could I request sleep deprivation due to being drugged for Dick? With Bruce and/or any of his brothers taking care of him and helping him to finally be able to sleep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It literally turned midnight (and therefore weekend;-)) at my place, like, half an hour ago. But I couldn't wait any longer...:-)

Blüdhaven had been quiet for the past week, Dick’s hard work finally seeming to pay off. So, when Bruce called, asking if he would come to Gotham to help with an outbreak from Arkham, he hadn’t hesitated a second. It had been far too long since he’d last seen his baby brothers anyway, and when Bruce told him that both Jason and Tim would join them, too, Dick really couldn’t wait to arrive at the Manor anymore.

Soon after, all six of them found themselves in the Cave. While Damian and Tim still put on their uniforms, Bruce was already in full Batman gear, only with the cowl pulled down. He leaned against one of the desks, deeply in conversation with Alfred.

Jason leaned at the Cave wall furthest from Bruce, his helmet tucked under his arm, his intense green eyes staring towards the ground, but a fine smile still playing around his lips.

Dick wondered how Bruce had managed to convince him to come here. While Jason was at least no longer ignoring Bruce or trying to kill him, they also still weren’t on best terms, and usually, Jason was patrolling his own area of Gotham, and Bruce was completely fine with staying out of it. If either needed help, the other was usually the last person they would think of calling. That could either mean that tonight would be extremely rough and Bruce had decided to look past their differences, or, somehow (it seemed almost impossible), they were at peace with one another.

Dick himself had already arrived in his Nightwing gear and was now stretching in the middle of the room, currently sitting in a full split while thoughtfully regarding the oldest of his brothers.

Just now, Tim and Damian entered the room, and Bruce called them all forward to meet around the desk.

“We’ve got recorded outbreaks of Killer Croc, Two-Face, Firefly and the Riddler. We will split up in two teams, one being me and Red Robin, the other consisting of Robin, Red Hood and Nightwing. Agent A will man the comms.” Bruce stilled for a long moment, before looking each of his sons in the eye, very briefly.

“I’m glad you could all make it.” he added, gruffly.

Dick could barely keep himself from gaping. What had gotten into Bruce tonight? Maybe he was indeed not the only one missing the rest of the family.

After a short pause, five voices called a “Copy that!” through the Cave.

“Alright. My team will take the part of Gotham east of the river, the rest of you take the west side and the docks. All clear?”

When there were no objections, Batman motioned for Red Robin to follow and they entered the Batmobile, speeding off. Nightwing, Robin and Red Hood got on their bikes and followed right after, only splitting up when they reached the riverside.

Here, Nightwing raised a hand to tell his brothers to stop their bikes.

“I say we split up to cover more ground, too. But at the first sign of trouble, we call in for help over the comms _before_ engaging. Hood, you take the part north of Crime Alley; I’ll take the middle, and Robin will go south. Alright?”

The other two nodded, and they took off in the designated directions. The night was quiet as Dick left his bike in a dark alley and went up for higher ground.

What he really hated about most of the rogues was their unpredictability. Sure, Killer Croc liked to spend his time in the sewers, and old warehouses were almost always a well-liked hiding place. There were so many of those all over Gotham, though, that it was pretty much like searching for a needle in a pile of other needles. Blüd’s mobsters, on the other hand, had their usual hunting grounds, and any newcomers usually announced themselves one way or the other soon enough. But whenever there was an outbreak at Arkham, there was no choice but searching every inch of Gotham or else wait for reports of their victims to give them a lead. And that had never really been a choice.

Dick pressed his comm, not wanting to spend the whole night in silence when he could have some bonding time with his brothers instead.  
“Hey, guys?” he called out cheerily. “Have you ever thought about how stupid the saying ‘to find a needle in a haystack’ really is? You only need a magnet, and you’ll find it in no time. Finding a needle in a stack of needles, however... That needs real skill.”

“We are on a mission, Nightwing.” Bruce’s gruff voice came back. “Your attention is supposed to be on the task at hand.”

Dick pouted a little. “But, B” he said “You _know_ I can multi-task.”

“Well, I know what I haven’t missed.” Jason’s voice cut in. “You really do never shut up, do you?”

Laughing, Dick retorted “I’ve missed you too, Little Wing.”

Damian gave his trademark tutting noise, before sharply sucking in a breath. “Stop your chatter, imbeciles. I have laid eyes on Two-Face and the Riddler. They seem to have taken hostages in a warehouse at the docks. I may require some assistance.”

Immediately, Dick turned serious, too. ”I’m coming, Robin. Don’t engage, ‘kay? I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“On my way.” Jason added.

Damian’s tracker showed him to be roughly ten blocks away from Dick, right at the waterfront. Shooting his grapple, Dick crossed the first obstacle between himself and his little brother, and continued right on to the next. Adrenaline thrummed through his veins like a light electrical current; sharpening his eyes, his ears, his every sense.

Without it, he would probably never have heard the faint plopping sound of a dart being shot. He rolled down on the roof he had just landed on, fluently rising into a low crouch and looking around. The moonless light and Gotham’s ever-present smog made spotting an attacker harder, but Dick had grown up under those conditions, and they were only worse in Blüdhaven.

On a roof to his right, the light of a street lamp reflected off a moving barrel. Without losing a beat, Dick dove behind a low chimney, throwing a batarang at the tell-tale glint in the same motion.

He couldn’t be held up now, he thought angrily when he heard a small hiss of pain. His brothers needed him.

Something slammed into his back, hard, as he tried to get another glimpse of his attacker.

 _Stupid_ , he cursed himself when he felt something covering and restraining him. Of course there was another one. There always was.

From the sleeve of his suit, Dick pulled a small knife, trying to slice at one of the bonds. They had a strange texture, somewhat squishy and slimy, almost like...

A green stem wound itself around his wrist, pulling tight until he had to drop the knife. A moist, earthy scent filled his nostrils.

Poison Ivy.

But Batman hadn’t said anything about her...

“Look at the bird I caught.” Ivy laughed, her plants pulling even tighter.

A second voice could be heard from the shadows, sounding pissed-off. “But not before he clipped me. And he will pay for that.”

Dick recognised that voice, too. It was Jonathan Crane, better known as Scarecrow. What the _hell_ was wrong with Arkham now? Not only didn’t they manage to keep their inmates locked up, they couldn’t even keep count of who had left. Pathetic.

“I would say it’s a pleasure to see you... But really, your costumes were always a bit too eccentric for me.” Dick greeted them with the most conversational voice he could manage, while at the same time trying to wiggle his way free from the plants, at least enough to reach the emergency beacon at his belt or the comm in his ear. But one hand was squashed tightly against stone, and the other, which had held his knife, was now almost completely encompassed by thick, leafy stems.

“I never liked that one.” Poison Ivy pouted. “He’s always so _chatty_!”

“Hey! Why is everyone always saying that? I’m just being polite.” Dick complained, but Crane spoke right over him.

“I can’t wait to hear him scream in terror.” he declared, his strange mask morphing in something distinctly resembling a smile.

Taking a vaporizer out of one of his baggy pockets, he stepped closer to the struggling Nightwing. As if telling him a well-guarded secret, he whispered “You know, I’ve updated the formula with the help of our dear poisonous friend here. There’ll be quite a few things you won’t see coming.”

When the gas hit his face, Dick tried screwing his mouth shut, putting all of his strength in freeing one hand for one last time. But it was futile. He was well and truly stuck.

* * *

~~~~Damian crouched on a rooftop, the chill wind coming in from the harbour softly playing with his cape. In the warehouse opposite of him, Two-Face and the Riddler were setting up some kind of machinery while four scared businessmen were watching them. Tears streamed down the faces of two of them, and through his binoculars, Damian thought he could spot a dark stain between the legs of the third. Had he actually pissed himself? The two villains hadn’t even done anything yet!

“Weak.” he scoffed, when a set of heavy footsteps could be heard on the roof behind him.

“Who is, Demon Spawn?” Jason’s deep drawl sounded out.

“These people are supposed to be some of the most successful men in the city. And yet they can’t even hold themselves with _some_ degree of dignity here? That’s pathetic.” he complained.

“Huh.” Jason just answered. Then he asked “Where’s ‘Wing?”

“Damian looked around, almost as though he expected him to come jumping out from behind a chimney or something. “He should be here already.” He touched his comm and asked “Nightwing, do you copy?”

When there was no answer, a faint crease of worry appeared on his forehead.

 _Cute_ , Jason thought. Aloud, he said “I’m sure he’ll manage. I say we go in without him, before another one of those bastards has an accident. That’s always so messy...”

“Alright.” Damian answered after half a second of consideration. “But I take the lead.”

“Why would you do that?” Jason complained. “I’m much older!”

“But I’m more experienced, and better and smarter than you on any day. Anyway, it was the lead _I_ found.” he turned around with a curt “Follow me. We go in, take them out and bring them back to Arkham.”

 _God, Dick, how could you leave me alone with that brat?_ Jason thought in mock despair, but resigned himself to grappling next to the kid, entering through one of the broken windows, effectively crashing the party.

It took mere minutes to take Two-Face and the Riddler out, disarm the bomb they’d set up ( _very original_ , Jason thought) and free the men, who didn’t even thank them but just ran out the doors with their tails tucked between their legs.

Ungrateful assholes. But, well. They weren’t the reason they were here, after all.

“Shall we, then, brat?” Jason asked, making Damian turn around with a snarl. He probably oughtn’t provoke the kid as much. But it was too much fun...

“Come on, imbecile.” Damian shot back, grabbing the Riddler under the arms and dragging him towards their bikes, Jason following right behind with Two-Face.

Just as they were about to leave, Batman’s voice came over the comms. “Killer Croc and Firefly are secure and back in Arkham. Report, Team Beta.”

Jason dropped his burden in order to answer. “We found the other two. On our way to the asylum now. But the big birdbrain isn’t answering his comms. Maybe a malfunction, we don’t know yet.”

There was silence on the other side for a second. Then, Batman growled “Come back to the Cave to debrief directly after you’re done. Batman out.”

“Copy that.“ Jason responded, though he kind of wanted to protest. Never again would Batman be the boss of him. But, in order to find Dick (and give him a good lecture about losing contact in the field), he would bear with it. For now.

“Are you coming?” Damian called out, and then they were speeding off again, dropping the newly found prisoners with a group of guards (until the next time they mysteriously managed to escape, that was...) and finally made their way back to the Cave. 

* * *

Dick woke with a headache that felt as though it was splitting his brain in two. He groaned, twisting, only to find that he could barely move. His eyes half-closed into slits, he looked around.

A small, dingy room with a window high up on one wall, no more than 12 by 12 feet. Concrete walls, ceiling and floor. He was currently lying on a small cot placed at the wall opposite the window, his wrists and ankles chained to the bedposts with heavy manacles. He gave them an experimental pull. There was absolutely no give. And, as he just realized, his boots and gloves were removed. Whoever had taken him knew what they were doing. Great.

No light came through the window. That meant that he couldn’t have been out for long, at least. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall what had happened. Damian...

Damian had needed his help! And here he was, stuck. Oh God, was his baby brother okay?

What else...? Dick felt his breathing increase when he couldn’t remember.

Suddenly, the door opened. Jason entered, his helmet removed and his face streaked with blood and soot. He held something in his arms, but Dick couldn’t recognize what it was. He craned his neck, desperately scared of what he would see, but also knowing that he _had_ to know.

“Jay...” he whispered through a hoarse throat. “Jay, what...”

Jason’s stony expression didn’t change, but he took another step closer. And now, Dick could see all too clearly what – who – was bundled up in his arms, and he immediately wished he hadn’t.

It was Damian, _his Dami_ , his body twisted at an impossible angle, bleeding from a multitude of wounds. His domino mask had come loose at one side, and Dick could see one glassy green eye, staring at the ceiling, unseeing.

“No.” Dick keened, tears burning in his eyes. “No, no, _Dami_!” Subconsciously, his right hand jerked against the chain, desperate to touch, but Jason stayed just out of his reach, looking down accusingly.

“You were supposed to be there.” he said, his voice harsh and mean. “You said you’d be there, and then you didn’t come. He’s dead because of you, _Goldie_ , do you understand? You did this!”

“No.” Dick sobbed. “No, please, not Dami, not my baby bird.” He tried to curl into himself, to hide at the wall, but the chains held him in a stretched-out position. Horrible, tearing loss filled his heart, more agonising than any wound could ever be. Dread took hold of him, and he dared not turn around again, instead staring at the wall with unseeing eyes, tears streaming down his face.

For a while, nothing happened, and after the mental stress he’d been put through, an incredible weariness settled over Dick. He didn’t want to sleep, didn’t think he deserved it, really, but nevertheless his swollen, burning eyes were slowly drifting shut.

As soon as they closed, Jason reappeared, now without Damian, but wrapped in dirty bandages himself, a broad Joker grin painted over his face.

“You could have saved me.” he hissed, utter hatred in eyes that burned green with pit madness. “If you hadn’t been so self-absorbed with your pathetic little inferiority complex over Bruce choosing me over you, you could have _been there_.”

Dick could do nothing but stare at Jason, his head slowly shaking back and forth in denial.

“I bet you were happy, weren’t you? When I died. When it was finally just you and Bruce, the _dynamic duo_ again, right? I bet you didn’t go to my funeral because you were _celebrating_. I bet...”

“ _NO_!” Dick yelled. “No, please stop Jay, I’m sorry! S-so sorry...” he tore his eyes open again, almost sobbing in relief at only facing the plain concrete.

It took him several minutes to calm down enough to allow for any kind of logical thought. Once his heart wasn’t racing in his chest anymore and his breathing had come back to a somewhat normal rhythm, too, he realized that something was off.

If this was all real, Jason wouldn’t just have disappeared once he opened his eyes.

But that meant... He was drugged, or something. And with that thought, all memories returned. Poison Ivy. Scarecrow. The ‘updated’ formula.

A relieved sigh left Dick’s lips. None of it was real. He only had to keep his eyes open until he could get out of here, or until the others found him, and it would be alright.

* * *

Bruce, Tim and Alfred were already waiting in the Batcave when Jason and Damian returned. Tim had changed back into civilian clothing, and Alfred was just cleaning a shallow gash on Bruce’s arm.

“What happened, Father?” Damian asked, stepping closer.

“Killer Croc got a lucky hit in with his claws. I’m fine.”

Removing his helmet, Jason leaned against a desk. “What are we going to do about Dickface?” he asked, appearing completely bored. “I’d like to catch some shut-eye tonight, too.”

Bruce stood up from the chair Alfred had placed him on, experimentally flexing his arm.  
“It wouldn’t be the first time for Dick to disappear unannounced, though it is unusual that he chose to do so in the midst of patrol. Perhaps something has come up in Blüdhaven. We will wait until morning for a sign of him, then you and Red Robin will go there to check out his apartment and the city. For now, let’s go to bed. I would call the night a success.”

They all went for the showers and their respective bedrooms without further ado, but Jason couldn’t quite shake the feeling that they should be doing something more on the matter of the missing bird. On the other hand, though, it wasn’t as if Bruce was wrong. Dick could perfectly well handle himself. But if they did find him in his apartment tomorrow, Jason would really tear him a new one. 

* * *

It took Dick less than two hours to realize that his plan of _just keeping his eyes open_ would be much harder than he anticipated. The sun had started shining through his small window a little while ago, and the sleepless night was slowly making itself known. And it wasn’t as though he had slept much the night before that, either.

He suppressed a yawn as he tried for the umpteenth time all that he could think of to free himself. Tugging at the chains had only succeeded in scraping his wrists raw. Dislocating his thumbs was not an option, because the manacles sat too tight. The lock-picks in his gloves were gone, obviously, and the chains were far too short even for him to reach any of the others tucked into his suit.

And he was so tired. Half an hour ago, he had started counting backwards from 1000 in Arabic. He’d gotten to somewhere around 950 before his muddled brain had lost count.

Against his will, Dick’s eyes fell shut again. Bruce loomed over him, frowning. “It’s your fault!” he hissed. “You let them all die! You destroy this family with your mere presence. We’d all be better off if you just died.”

“ _No_!” Dick yelled, violently yanking at the manacles to wake himself up. His heart raced and cold sweat had broken out all over his body. He tried to shield himself against the influence of Scarecrow’s gas, but his hallucinations were far too close to his own insecurities to shake them off easily.

But he was okay. He just needed to stay awake...

Timmy. He held Bruce’s lifeless body up, quivering under the weight.  
“If only you’d believed me, we could have saved him together, Dick. But you abandoned us. You abandoned your family...”

Desperately, Dick opened his eyes again. He trembled as he looked around the room. How was he supposed to fight something as natural as sleeping? 

* * *

The next morning, Jason and Tim left right after breakfast. Their drive to Blüdhaven seemed to take an eternity, as each of them was on their own bike and therefore alone with his thoughts. Usually, Tim didn’t mind the quiet. In his turbulent life, it was a blessing to have time for himself. But today, he wished for a distraction. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, a bad feeling. Last night had been a success. Even Bruce had said so. So _why_ did he feel like he was missing a crucial puzzle piece?

As soon as they reached Dick’s apartment it became apparent that he hadn’t been there. The sheets looked unslept in, his Nightwing suit was nowhere to be found and the milk in the half-empty cup of coffee on the table had turned sour. Disgusting, and definitely not fresh.

“Alright.” Jason said. “Goldilocks definitely didn’t sleep in her own home last night. What do you think about splitting up?” He sounded as though he wasn’t too fond of the idea, and, if Tim was being honest, he wasn’t either. Splitting up was what had made them lose Dick in the first place.

“Let’s go together.” he simply said. “It will take us twice as long, but it’s also twice as probable that we spot something out of the ordinary.”

He was starting to worry, now. Even if something extremely dire had come up in the ‘Haven, Dick would have at least left them a message by now.

They made their way through Blüdhaven in circles outward from Dick’s apartment. It was broad daylight, so they tried to keep to the rooftops as much as possible. Tim remembered that Dick had once told him that Blüdhaven was a lot less vigilante-friendly than Gotham. It was probably best if they weren’t seen by the citizens.

But, other than the fact that the city was unusually quiet, there was nothing to be found. When the sun was about to set and they had finally reached the outskirts of the city, the nagging feeling at the back of Tim’s mind slowly grew into a much stronger feeling of dread coiling in his guts.

“Hey, Hood?” he called out to Jason, who walked beside him past a row of warehouses. “What if we are looking in the wrong place entirely?”

Jason turned to face him. “What do you mean, Replacement?” he asked, his voice sounding somewhat hollow under the hood. Tim didn’t even have it in him to be annoyed by the hated nickname, his worry for Dick overshadowing everything else. Almost twenty-four hours had passed. Much more than enough to officially declare a person missing. Not that they were planning on that, of course. But it was still a concerning fact to think about.

“I mean, what if Dick never left Gotham? What if he, for some reason, can’t contact us? What if he’s hurt? God, how could we not have thought about that before? World’s best detective, my ass.”

And only now did Jason start to really worry, too. Tim almost never cursed. Like, ever. And he was by far the smartest of them all, even rivalling Bruce. If he found the facts he connected to be worrying enough to make him forget his manners, things were bad.

“What do you suppose we should do?” Jason asked, his voice serious. He would follow the replacement’s lead on this one.

Tim only thought about that for one second. “Back to Gotham. I need to check a few things out.” 

* * *

At some point, more yellow gas had flooded the room, until Dick had no choice but to inhale another load of it. His eyes now fell shut every few seconds without him being able to do a single thing about it. The hallucinations he saw were getting worse every time.

Roy. A hypodermic needle still stuck in the crook of his elbow. His eyes were glassy, but his words were still sharp like razor blades.  
“If you had been there for me, if only you’d have listened, it would never have come to this. Look at where you put me. You have never been my friend!”

No, no, stay awake...

Burning eyes, the taste of salty tears on his dry lips.

He stood in the living room of the Manor, Alfred right in front of him, his old face looking worn with deep lines of worry.  
“I tried so hard with you, Master Richard. But, what could I do? Once a gypsy, always a gypsy. You will never learn...”

A desperate yank at the chains, sharp, glorious pain in his wrists. The plain concrete wall...

...light fading again...

Jericho’s dead body, lying in a puddle of blood on the ground. His team stood in a half-circle around him, pointing accusing fingers at Dick. When he looked down at his own body, his hands were red with blood, and a long sword was still clutched in his right.

Stop!

Need...

Light.

Darkness.

No, _no!_ He needed...

Darkness.

Damian, a katana in his hand as he slayed a room full of people.  
“Why would I ever listen to you, Grayson? You’re pathetic, thinking you were in any way fit to wear my father’s mantle. I could never trust you! I hate you!”

Dick sobbed again, deep and heartbroken.

How could it stop?

It never would...

Never.

Stop!

Please...

* * *

Night had fallen over the city when the brothers reached the Manor, but artificial light made the cage look as bright as ever. Bruce was typing away at the bat-computer while Damian was pacing nervous circles behind him, every-so-often looking over his shoulder at the screen. Tim had called them on his way back, alerting them to his suspicion and asking Bruce to have the footage from all of their masks ready for his return.

Now, he moved to the computer without another word, following his lead the way a police dog would, his attention undistractable. The rest of the family knew that even trying to talk to him would be useless right now, and so Bruce called them all over for training. For now, there was nothing they could do.

Three hours and four cups of black coffee later, a frown spread over Tim’s face. Dick’s footage had turned to static soon after Damian called for help, and his tracker was offline, too, so he had turned to the other’s cameras. And now he may have found his first lead.

“Jason?” he called out, his attention fixed on the scene playing out before him. It showed Jason’s perspective from when they’d given their captive rogues back to the guards.

The whole family gathered around Tim’s desk, anxious for news.

“What is it?” Bruce asked, but Tim turned to look at Jason and Damian as he asked “You didn’t escort Two-Face and the Riddler back to their cells, either, did you?”

The brothers shared a look before Jason spoke up. “Um, no, we were hurrying to get back, so we didn’t exactly spare it a second thought. Why...?”

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Tim looked back at the screen. His forehead was scrunched up in deep thought, his fingers drumming a fast rhythm on the table.

“I don’t...” Then, suddenly, both his and Damian’s eyes were opening widely, and they called out simultaneously “ _Corrupt guards_!”

Immediately, everyone knew that they were right. And who were they kidding? This was Gotham. Of course there would be corruption in the play. Again: Why hadn’t they thought of that before?

But, deep inside, they all knew the reason for their lack of concern, and therefore care in looking for clues. Dick was the First Robin, the Golden Boy. He just... didn’t make mistakes. He always got out of dire situations, and being kidnapped just off patrol seemed absurd. It shouldn’t even be worth thinking about.

“Pull up the footage from Arkham, each cell.” Bruce ordered, his voice going into full Batman mode. Tim complied immediately, and after a few clicks the screen showed dozens of video feeds from equal-looking cells. All of them were filled with people that haunted every gothamite’s nightmare.

All except two.

“Scarecrow and Poison Ivy are still on the loose! And I’d bet a grand that they took the Boy Hostage, too!” Jason exclaimed, already moving to put on his helmet again.

“Move out! Each one takes their usual patrol area. We’ll scour the city until we’ve found him. Alfred, call up Oracle. See if she can find any kind of lead.”

Everyone nodded. There was no time to be lost. Suits were donned, comms were checked, and vehicles prepared. And, like their namesakes, the Bats flew off into the night.

The first rays of morning light painted the city an unusually beautiful orange when, finally, Damian went to check yet another warehouse, which should prove to be the right one. He almost would have missed the tiny window going out the back, only noticing it because of a quiet whimper reaching his ears.

Checking it out, the sight almost broke his little heart. There, on a filthy cot in the corner, lay his big brother, his _Batman_ , tied down like an animal and weakly tugging at the bonds while tears streamed over his pale cheeks. A quiet stream of _No's_ , _Please's_ and _Stop's_ fell from his lips. His eyelids were fluttering as though he desperately tried to keep them open.

“I found him.” Damian whispered in his comm, his voice grave. “He is in need of immediate help. Meet up at my coordinates.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, instead stealthily moved through the empty-seeming warehouse. He knew that the rogues had to be somewhere around, but the others could worry about them when they arrived. He had more important matters to attend to.

The door to Dick’s chamber opened with a quiet creak, and once again, Dick jerked against his bonds. He honestly didn’t know if he could stand yet another person telling him about his failures. And he was so tired, his every molecule aching desperately for rest. Rest that he could never get...

“Nightwing!” a hushed voice sounded in his ears, and he bit his lip to hide another whimper. _Wake up, just wake up..._ But the pain from his lip registered clearly, and in front of him, he saw nothing but the now familiar grey concrete.

A weak shudder went through his muscles. Was he sleeping, or was he awake? Were the hallucinations now plaguing him even with his eyes open? _No, please no._ He could not take it any longer.

“Nightwing?” again the soft voice, and then a warm touch on his shoulder. With a gasp, he recoiled.

But there was no attack, no spiteful words, no accusations. Instead, a young, slightly impatient (slightly _worried_?) voice spoke up.

“Come on, snap out of it, Nightwing! Hey... _Grayson_...” The last word was only whispered, barely audible, but it still conveyed emotions Dick had not heard once in all his time here. There was something like care in there, maybe even love... He lay completely still, unmoving, waiting for what would happen.

“Listen to me, okay? Whatever you are feeling right now... It’s not real. I’m Robin, and I am here for you. Didn’t you always tell me to trust? So trust, now. Trust me.”

Robin...? Robin had died. No, Robin had killed so many people. But now, Robin had said it wasn’t real. Trust... trust Robin? No, not just Robin. Trust Damian! Finally, his sleep-deprived brain managed to find the right connection. And that meant... his baby brother was alright!

“D...” he croaked, his voice dry and raspy from his continued sobs and pleas. He tried turning around to face him, but his body was heavier than lead, and he just managed a tiny twitch of the hand closest to Damian.

“That’s right. I am here.” How could he not have recognised this voice before?

“ ’m tired...” Dick managed to slur as he felt his eyes trying to close yet again. But he could _not_ have another hallucination right in front of Damian.

“You may rest now. I will protect you, should the need arise.” Damian said generously.

Grayson’s condition confused him. Physically, he seemed quite alright; except for his wrists and ankles which were rubbed raw by the manacles, and his red-rimmed eyes. Damian would not think about the reason for the latter. On the other hand, with the two people who had taken him captive, it was more probable for him to be put in some kind of mentally harming situation. But they were all vaccinated against Crane’ fear gas...

Well, there was more time to figure that out once they had gotten Richard back home. He could hear fighting on the other side of the door. Apparently, the others had finally arrived, too.

He knelt down to examine the handcuffs holding the man to the bed. An easy lock, picking it was a matter of mere seconds, if you had a lock-pick at hand. Grayson had not had any such luck, apparently.

The eyes of his big brother had slipped shut. _Good_ , Damian thought. He looked like he needed the rest. He had just bent down to free the ankles, too, when Dick gave a violent lurch, almost throwing himself off the bed.

“No, ‘m so sorry...” he whimpered, his fingers almost deformed into claws as he tried to hold on to the bedsheet. “P-please, I...”

Damian jumped up, resolutely pushing his shoulders down and his hands to his chest to protect Richard from himself, just as the doors flew open.

“What...?” Tim asked, stunned into silence at the picture before him.

“Richard, you need to wake up.” Damian hissed, lightly shaking the twitching body. And then Bruce and Jason were at his side, each taking one of Dick’s arms so Damian was free to try and calm him down.

“Listen to me, okay? You _need_ to open your eyes. Come on, snap out of it!”

And really, with a heart-breaking whimper Dick dragged his heavy lids up and open, dull cerulean eyes staring right into the faces of his family.

“B?” he whispered, almost unbelieving. “J-Jay, Timmy... Dames.”

No one had the heart to remind their brother and son of the ‘No Names In The Field’ rule. Instead, they all nodded softly, giving affirmative noises.

“What happened, chum?” Batman asked as Damian went back to the task of freeing Dick’s feet. Jason and Tim had helped Dick to sit up, and three pairs of eyes were checking for injuries.

“Poison Ivy... Scarecrow...the gas. I got dosed, couldn’t sleep. B, I’m really tir’d.” his eyes were starting to fall shut again, the comfort of his family making it that much easier to relax.

“Don’t let him sleep, Batman.” Damian said sharply. “I think that whatever he got dosed with only takes hold of him when he isn’t conscious.”

Bruce gave a curt nod. “You hear that, chum? You have got to stay awake just a little longer.” His strong hands took Dick’s pulse, and a hard expression set on his face, Batman’s only way of ever showing worry.

“We’re going to get you out of that rat-hole and in a nice bed, ‘Wing, okay? C’mon, look at me.”

With much difficulty, Dick turned his head towards Jason. “I’m ‘kay, Little Wing.” he croaked softly, trying and probably failing to smile, if Jason’s frown was any indication.

“Y’know, your apartment is fucking filthy.” Jason stated, if only to hold Dick’s attention on something.

“... didn’t invite you over, did I?” Dick mumbled jokingly.

“Let’s go.” Damian said at that moment, and without hesitation, Bruce put his strong arms under Dick’s body and easily lifted the acrobat.

“C’n walk!” Dick protested half-heartedly, but Bruce didn’t even bother answering.

“Your only job now is staying awake.” Tim added instead, just as they passed the tied up rogues which in this case, the police would just have to pick up. The matter of corruption in Arkham could be addressed later, too.

“That would be easier if he stood on his own two legs.” Jason pointed out, if only to spite Bruce and Tim.

“Told ya.” Dick mumbled with a satisfied tone, making Damian click his tongue in discontentment.

They reached the Batmobile which Bruce had parked right in front of the warehouse, and the drive back to the Cave passed quickly, Dick being sandwiched in the back seat between Damian and Tim.

The medbay was already prepared with everything Alfred thought even remotely necessary, and as soon as Bruce had deposited Dick on the bed, he immediately started with drawing a blood sample for Tim to check and taking Dick’s vitals.

“You said you can’t sleep without hallucinating, Dick, is that correct?” Bruce asked, still dressed in the cowl, but at least no longer using his Batman-voice.

“Y-yes.” Dick whispered. “New... formula.” No matter how much comfort his family brought him, he was _tired_. He couldn’t not sleep any longer.

“Do you think a sedative would work, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked, his voice calm and controlled even though he, too, was worrying for the second oldest of his ragtag-family.

“No, no, please...” Dick whispered, deadly scared of being completely defenseless to the hallucinations. He couldn’t find the words to address that, but it seemed that he was understood even though he couldn’t voice his worries.

“No, that might just make it worse if he does hallucinate anyway and we can’t wake him up. We will have to wait for the antidote.”

Suddenly, Damian perked up, unusually shy. “I have... another idea.” he mumbled. “When we are hurt, or... or scared, Richard always stays close to us for comfort. Maybe... if we could show him he was safe with us...” he trailed off. “Maybe it’s a bad idea...”

“I think... ‘t might work, lil’ D.” Dick whispered from his bed, stretching out his right arm in an inviting gesture. “C’mere.”

“You do?” Damian sounded surprised, even more so when the other family members seemed to agree. They all moved closer; even Tim abandoned the sample which was just now running through some test sequences, anyway.

Jason perched on the right side of the bed, taking Dick’s hand between his own calloused palms.

“You’re okay, Dickiebird.” he said with a smile.

Tim sat down cross-legged at the foot of the bed, taking Dick’s feet in his lap and massaging the soles the way he knew Dick liked.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to you. You’re safe.”

Bruce pulled an armchair closer, sitting right at his left side, one hand on his son’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you are back, chum.” he whispered, as though admitting his feelings was something best done in secret. But hearing him admit it at all was a great privilege for Dick, anyway.

Alfred took his post over Dick’s head, carding his long fingers through the black, sweat-matted strands.

“Rest now, Master Dick. You are going to be just fine."

And finally, upon seeing all that, Damian came closer and closer, too. Dick patted the bed on his left side, whispering softly “It’s your turn, Dami.” A smile broke out over the kid’s face as he slid onto the mattress and curled up in his brother’s arm.

He, as the only one, had directly heard a small part of Dick’s terrors. And so he was the one who knew the exact right words that were the last nudge Dick needed to fall asleep.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Richard. You are a good person... and we love you."

Finally, thirty-eight hours after he had first been dosed, Dick Grayson fell asleep with a soft smile on his face.

Not a single nightmare troubled his rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still kind of figuring out just how much plot one of those things needs... So if you want anything differently, pls tell me and I'll try to adapt;-) And I won't promise that each of the chapters will have more than 6,000 words, cause that's just kinda... a lot.  
> Hope you all enjoyed anyway...  
> Comments warm my heart and help me get better!


	3. Water Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alaelae requested: I really want to read water torture; with Dick as Nightwing and YJ-team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I took some plot and a few lines of dialogue directly from the Young Justice s02e09 Darkest. So, any content you recognize in any way isn't mine;-)
> 
> With that being said, enjoy!

“Nightwing is an ordinary human; Superboy a human-kryptonian hybrid clone. Neither category is of any interest to our partner.” Kaldur’s voice boomed through the cave.  
“But, Nightwing knows many things about the inner workings of the Justice League. He will be of value for intel-gathering. Bind him, and take him with you as well.”

With a curt nod, Tigris followed Kaldur’s orders, stepping towards Dick who had barely managed to push himself back onto his feet. His legs were still shaking from the shock he received mere minutes ago.

“Comply, Nightwing.” she said coldly. Even though Dick had planned the glamour charm, it was still startling for him to think that no one except him, and Kaldur, could see Artemis the way she really was. It was hard to combine the picture he had of her with that harsh, compassionless warrior persona she displayed.

He stood completely still as she harshly pulled his wrists behind his back, tying coarse rope around them. He was grateful for his gloves, knowing that otherwise, his skin would be chafed raw within minutes.

But something was wrong. This had never been part of their plan. How was the team supposed to free them, if Kaldur didn’t leave the flash drive with Nightwing and, in consequence, leave _N_ _ightwing_ in the cave?

“Aqualad! You’ll regret this!” he called out. That was the key phrase. What would Kaldur do with it?

As it turned out, he barely even spared a glance at his bound captive.

“I believe I have outgrown the name Aqualad, as well as anything resembling regret.” he stated calmly, already moving away from Nightwing.

Dick was reeling. What was Kaldur playing at? He _had_ to have a plan, didn’t he? Dick needed to trust him. But right now, that was easier said than done...

A harsh shove from behind. “Move it” Tigris snarled and, still a little dazed, he stumbled forward into the bright sunlight. For now, he would go along with whichever change of plans Kaldur and Artemis had come up with. He didn’t have much choice if he didn’t want to blow their cover, anyway.

And that was why, when Blue Beetle broke out of his collar and attacked Kaldur, he didn’t make a move to help and allowed Artemis to hold him steady instead, not even preventing her from shooting the dart, even though he could have done so with no difficulties.

That was also why he let her push him to the ground in a corner far away from his friends once they’d reached the plane, allowed her to tie his feet together and then connect them to his hands behind his back, effectively hog-tying him. His back arched gracefully when he tried to crane his neck enough to keep Kaldur in his line of sight. The position would have been highly stressful for any average person, but that wasn’t who Dick was. He could stay like this for hours and only experience mild discomfort.

Two of his young teammates were just starting to come to after being shocked or beat into unconsciousness, and a pang of guilt shot through Dick’s chest. It had been a necessary evil, but it was still his decision which had put them in this position. And what they were about to witness would no doubt be traumatic. Dick just hoped they would forgive him, eventually.

And really, it only took a few more minutes until what Dick had known would happen came true.

“Do it.” he heard Kaldur say, the tension audible, if faint, in his voice. Artemis couldn’t hide how upset she was, either, losing her mask so Dick was finally able to see her eyes. The hurt he saw there almost made him regret his decision of blowing up the mountain. But it was too late now.

“You’re sure?” she asked, already knowing the answer. And as Kaldur only repeated his previous words, she took a deep breath and pushed down on the switch.

As a thunderous noise could be heard in the distance, Dick closed his eyes behind the lenses of his mask for a second, swallowing down bile. It was necessary. They _needed_ to infiltrate the Light.

Impulse’s soft “Oh, no!” and Beast Boy’s tortured gasp still hit like knives in his heart. He wished he knew how to comfort them. But he couldn’t find any words.

The rest of the flight passed in tense silence, at least on the side of the heroes. The Terror Twins were joking and laughing, sometimes with, sometimes about Icicle Jr. Dick didn’t have it in him to follow their stupid banter.

A soft thud indicated their arrival at Black Manta’s ship. Dick watched the door open wordlessly, a group of Manta’s men entering with three pods.

“Nightwing!” Beast Boy yelled worriedly, but there was nothing Dick could do. He tried a reassuring smile, and then they were wheeled away.

“Where are you taking them?” he addressed Tigris with a demanding voice. Instead of an answer, she kicked him in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs. Dick was sick of not knowing what was going on. Worry churned his stomach.

“Comply.” Tigris said again as she untied his ankles to allow him to move. Two men harshly gripped his upper arms, pulling him into the belly of the ship, where Kaldur stood next to Black Manta.

“I have brought Nightwing here as well, with the intention of interrogating him for further information about the Justice League which may be of value to our partners, Father.” he explained submissively, his head respectfully bowed. Dick hated seeing his friend reduced to this.

“Well done, Kaldur’ahm. Come with me.” Manta answered.

“Throw him into a cell in the prison wing, Tigris. Secure him carefully. I will deal with his questioning later.” With those words, Kaldur turned, and the two men pushed Dick forward, deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of the ship.

They didn’t have to walk long before Tigris unlocked a high-security door with a key card and a long password, and they were greeted with the stench of moisture and decay. Dick scrunched up his nose, going for a smart remark.

“If that is where you take all your guests, it’s not surprising that you do not have enough allies to reach your goals.” he jabbed.

The guards’ grip turned tighter, easily bruising now. Dick counted that as a win. He had managed to upset them, even just a little. This was familiar territory.

“Quiet.” Tigris snapped.

“Gee, relax. I couldn’t have known this would be such a sore point. But, honestly: I could give you a little advice, if you wanted?” Dick went on, disregarding her order. He had to make it convincing, after all. And Nightwing was known everywhere for being the chatty one.

But this time, Artemis decided not to play his games. She pulled a dirty rag out of a pocket, roughly stuffing it between Dick’s teeth and using a second one to tie it in place. The cloth tasted and smelled disgusting, and Dick gave a disgruntled noise.

“You were asking for it.” Tigris just remarked, then unlocked one out of a row of equal-looking doors in the corridor with the same method she had used on the first. Without further ado, Dick was pushed inside; he stumbled on a shallow step and landed on his knees, feeling the frigid cold of the concrete seep through the thin material of his suit.

Once again, he was hog-tied by Tigris, then the door slammed shut and left him in complete darkness.

There was no way to measure the time in the cell, but Dick was sure it had been several hours before the door opened again and Kaldur stepped through. Dick lay on his side, shivering violently. His suit was barely isolated for reasons of better mobility; it offered no protection against the chill crawling deep into his bones from the damp stone.

The lenses of his mask helped him see despite the sudden light change. Kaldur carried his helmet under his arm, his face an emotionless, unfriendly mask. He was alone, and closed the cell door behind him, but not before switching on a bright industrial spotlight fixed on the ceiling.

Dick didn’t dare giving anything away that might connect him to Kaldur before he knew for certain that they weren’t being watched, but he still hoped for some kind of information about the drastic change of plans. Again, his hopes were in vain.

“We require information about the Justice League, namely the access codes to the Watchtower and the Batman’s cave as well as profiles of each member’s weaknesses.” The latter Kaldur probably knew a lot of himself. And had he told these people about the Watchtower? Dick was getting more confused by the minute.

“I know you, Nightwing, and I know you won’t give this information up easily. But I am prepared to use force to find out what I want to know. Keep in mind that our former friendship means nothing to me anymore.”

That hurt more than it probably should, considering it ( _hopefully_ ) was a fraud. But did Kaldur only mean their obvious friendship, or was he actually talking about their secret mission, too? Was it possible that Kaldur was _playing him_ , instead of Black Manta? As much as Dick hated to admit it, those were possibilities he needed to consider.

Dick still couldn’t speak, the gag firmly fixed between his teeth. He raised an eyebrow in a _‘How am I supposed to tell you anything like that?’_ fashion.

“You are wondering why I haven’t taken the gag out.” Kaldur correctly interpreted his look. “The reason is simple. You won’t talk yet, anyway; and the gag is of use for my... methods of convincing you.”

There was absolutely nothing in Kaldur’s expression indicating any kind of hesitation about torturing his friend. Could he really be that good an actor?

Dick tried to scoff behind the gag, but his attempt was probably futile, as it evoked no reaction at all. Instead, Kaldur gripped his bound wrists and ankles and painfully dragged Dick over to the far wall, where he could only now spot some kind of table made out of stainless steel. It was tilted at an odd angle, and it took Dick a second to figure out what it was supposed to be. As soon as the realization hit, he couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly.

How very predictable. Kaldur, _Aqualad_ , was going to waterboard him.

He used his water force as a means of restraint to prevent Dick from moving too much while he untied his wrists and forced them into tight cuffs on the table, repeating the process with his ankles.

Despite himself, the breath rapidly wheezed through Dick’s nose and another faint tremble shook his body. He was not one to easily be afraid, or to show his fear, for that matter. But right now, insecurity intensified the worry he felt about the impending proceedings. _What_ was going on? He was sure he could take the torture, even though no one had tried waterboarding him before. He didn’t fear physical pain. But what he did fear was the possibility of actually having lost his friend to the enemy.

A white cloth was draped over Dick’s face, and Kaldur’s figure went blurry. Just because Dick had never actually experienced it didn’t mean that he wasn’t taught how to resist this form of torture. He inhaled deeply, just once, and held his breath. He could easily go without breathing for three minutes, maybe even a bit longer. That would do nothing about the water entering through his nose and therefore rising in his throat. But while it would certainly cause immense discomfort, it wasn’t immediately dangerous as long as Dick could keep himself from directly inhaling any water. He simply had to keep a tight control over his mind in order not to panic. At least, that was the theory...

Dick counted the seconds until Kaldur would start with the water, making sure to keep track of how much time he had left until he needed to draw in the next breath. But the water wasn’t coming.

Two minutes passed, and once again Dick was left wondering about Kaldur’s intentions. Was he trying to scare him by making him wait? That would be a weak attempt, Dick thought. Had Kaldur forgotten that he wasn’t an amateur?

But two could play this waiting game, and so Dick exhaled and went to draw another breath. But instead of the stale air, frigid water entered his lungs. All thoughts of keeping calm were forgotten when his lungs felt as if they were burning from the inside out. He flailed his limbs, and shook his head to dislodge the cloth, spluttering under the onslaught. But more and more water followed, sloshing through his nose, down his throat, into his lungs and _oh God he was going to die_...

The cloth was lifted. Desperately, Dick heaved for breath through his nose, dark spots in his vision due to the oxygen deprivation. He half-coughed through the gag, watery bile rising and burning in his throat. It didn’t find a way out, and Dick looked to Kaldur, honestly afraid for his life. He tried screaming through the fabric, but managed barely more than a weak, gurgling noise. His friend’s eyes were without any compassion.

There was no other way but to swallow the bile back down if Dick didn’t want to suffocate. Tears burned in his eyes when he finally managed to draw in a breath, but he refused to let them fall. Now, he felt weak for panicking so easily. Rationally, he knew that he couldn’t have been under the cloth for more than a minute. So why were his limbs shaking at the prospect of more?

Dick’s raw breaths were the only noise in the room. Kaldur barely gave him time to draw in more than a few of them, though, before he lifted the cloth again. Dick wanted to shake his head, wanted it to stop, but he wouldn’t show weakness that easily again. Instead, he forced his eyes to stare coldly at Kaldur until his view was obscured once more.

This time, the water started right away. It crawled down through Dick’s nose, much more slowly now that he wasn’t actively inhaling it, but no less disturbingly. His eyes started to water, and his throat constricted as though he wanted to gag again. And he couldn’t breathe...

 _Relax_ , Dick told himself. He _had_ to stay calm. Trying to swallow against the onslaught of water, to lead it down his esophagus instead of his trachea, Dick focussed on his heart, counting the beats. He just had to stay calm...

A fist hit his sternum, and all air left his lungs. Reflexively, Dick gasped for breath, but once again, only liquid fire raced into his lungs. And the cycle stared all over again. He was drowning, suffocating, dying; Kaldur wasn’t really interrogating him, he wanted to get rid of Dick. But Dick didn’t want to die...

Another desperate gasp, another gush of water in his lungs. There was no way he could ever survive this. His lungs burned as his body was racked with shivers. He _needed_ to breathe...

When the cloth was removed, light invaded his blurred vision, but no sweet oxygen would reach his flooded lungs. Hyperventilating, he gasped for breath, but in vain. There was too much water in his... everywhere, and with the gag in his mouth, he had no way to change that.

It took Kaldur several moments to notice that Dick was indeed not breathing, or maybe he just didn’t care. Dick didn’t know anymore. But suddenly, something like shock flashed in the older boy’s eyes, and he bent forward hurriedly to remove the gag.

Dick didn’t see Kaldur’s worried expression, too focussed on jerking up as far as his bonds would allow and releasing harsh coughs, each one more painful than the last. He vomited water and bile up, pathetically spilling it over the front of his suit, but, finally, _finally_ , the air he was still gasping for managed to reach his lungs.

He fell back down onto his back, turning his head to the side, and just breathed. Air had never tasted as sweet, as clear, as it did in this dingy cell at the moment. Another wet cough tore through his chest. Dick knew that the risk of developing pneumonia from this was at almost 100%, but he filed that thought away to deal with at a later time. Right now, his focus lay on enduring the next few minutes, or hours, or however long Kaldur intended to do this.

As if on cue, Kaldur spoke up, his voice completely void of emotion. “Are you ready to talk, now, or shall we continue?” he asked, as though he hadn’t just actively drowned his teammate.

They both knew Dick wouldn’t give in that ‘easily’, though. And so it didn’t come as a surprise when Dick disregarded his exhaustion, the pain in his lungs and throat and the cold and countered “What do you think?” with a scratchy, hoarse voice.

The cloth was thrown over his face again, and despite his brave façade, Dick really just wanted to cry. The process repeated itself – hold your breath, don’t panic, water in his lungs, _okay he was going to panic now_ , pain... – again and again. Now that his mouth was open, it was easier to swallow the water down, to alleviate the flood, but there was also even more water reaching his insides. After each go Kaldur lifted the cloth, his unyielding face swimming into view, getting more blurry each time. And every time he asked Dick whether he was ready to talk.

The only thing changing were Dick’s answers, really; not in their meaning, but in the way they were given. He started out with snarky remarks, trying to annoy Kaldur and to vent some of his frustration, then moved on to single _No's_ as his exhaustion grew and, finally, he was barely capable of doing anything other than weakly shaking his head from one side to the other, his lungs and throat feeling like they were torn apart with every breath. He didn’t even want to think about speaking.

Hours must have passed until Kaldur finally placed the cloth down and moved away a bit, setting something up in another part of the cell. Dick was completely drained, soaked from the top of his head down to his legs. He’d vomited up watery bile twice more, his coughs growing weaker each time. He barely managed to gather the energy to follow Kaldur with his eyes.

Luckily, he just returned to Dick’s side, anyway, untying first his ankles, then his wrists. All thoughts of not fighting him were forgotten as Dick saw himself faced with this opening. Adrenaline surged through his cells and Dick jumped up, pushing Kaldur back with trembling hands. But Kaldur didn’t even stumble, instead gripping Dick’s arms and painfully twisting them behind his back.

“Really?” faint amusement sounded in Kaldur’s voice. “You _really_ thought this would work? You are weak, Nightwing. _Pathetic_.”

No, Dick was angry, most of all. Angry for not understanding. Angry at Kaldur for not discussing whatever change of plans he made. Angry ( ~~scared~~ ) about the fact that maybe, Kaldur had been a triple agent this whole time, playing Dick instead of Black Manta.

But physically, he was exhausted beyond measure. His muscles were burning from the small exertion of the failed attack, his limbs as heavy as lead. Continuous drowning, the oxygen deprivation coupled with the constant fear of dying, would do that to a person.

Kaldur dragged Dick to a corner of the room in which a metal tub was placed. It was filled with water to about three quarters, and Dick tried to mentally prepare himself for being dunked, even though he didn’t think he could stand being submerged in water ever again.

But instead of pushing his head down, Kaldur bodily lifted Dick up and outright _threw_ him over the edge of the tub. The water was so cold it burned on Dick’s skin, and he fought desperately to get up and out of it. But Kaldur was ready, and that much stronger than him, and easily held him down on his knees.

Reaching into the tub, seemingly unbothered by the frigid temperature, Kaldur pulled Dick’s wrists behind his back and tied them to a small ring at the bottom of the tub, effectively preventing him from rising up. If Dick kneeled up as straight as he could manage, the water reached up to the middle of his chest. He had spent less than a minute in it and was already trembling violently.

“Even if you are not yet ready to talk, I am certain my father and our partners are highly amused by seeing one of their enemies degraded like that. I will come back tomorrow. See to it that you get some rest.” Kaldur stepped away with a small smirk at Dick, ready to leave him alone in the darkness and cold of the cell again. Dick couldn’t let that happen. He had to do something...

“Kaldur, wait!” he called out impulsively, knowing that there was nothing he could say that would make any difference. Nonetheless, Kaldur turned around, regarding him with a level gaze.

“You can’t leave me here like this.” Dick demanded weakly, although it was obvious that it would be in vain.

“Well, the room is monitored. Tell us what we want to know, and you will be freed.”

Was that a clue Kaldur just left him? Something along the lines of ‘ _I wish I could free you, but I'm being watched_ ’? Or maybe Dick was just clinging to every last bit of hope he could find, and Kaldur didn’t mean anything by what he said. And, anyhow, now he was gone, and Dick was swallowed by darkness once again.

He tried to distract himself with making sense of his situation, but the cold soon became so overwhelming that any logical thought seemed impossible. Dick’s legs were completely numb, and he shivered so violently that the water rippled around him. His chest, which had felt tight and achy before now constricted further and further, violent coughing fits tearing through him in irregular intervals. His lungs _burned_ , his head throbbed, and he was so exhausted...

His body sunk a bit deeper into the icy water, and with a hiss, Dick straightened up again. He didn’t know how cold the water actually was, but he felt like he might be entering the early stages of hypothermia. Without actually being able to feel his fingertips, Dick tried to fiddle with the rope holding him down. If only he could get out of the water, he may find a way out. He needed to help his teammates. And, opposing to his initial plan, they could not hope for help from the outside.

The rope, made slippery from the water, slithered through Dick’s fingers like a sneaky snake. His fingers were numb, and his arms trembled. He barely even managed to make out the knot, let alone loosen it.

Dick cursed in frustration. The Light would have a good laugh about that, for sure.

But there really was nothing he could do. Another coughing fit rattled him to his bones, and exhaustedly, Dick let his head fall forward. He physically couldn’t stand staying in this ice-bath much longer.

His shivers grew weaker, too. Did Kaldur even consider that people, _ordinary humans_ , as he’d said, could die from hypothermia? If he stopped shivering, it meant that his body couldn’t keep itself warm any longer. This could lead to, in the worst case even permanent, damage to his extremities, and, if it progressed further, to death. And he was already beyond weary from the ordeal Kaldur put him through. He didn’t have much energy left to continue warming himself through means of trembling muscles.

He kept on trying to move his fingers and toes, even though he had no idea about whether it was working, since he couldn’t feel them. Moving was hard, though, as if he wasn’t kneeling in a tub of water, but in molasses instead.

Dick closed his eyes. It made no real difference in the darkness anyway...

He would just rest for a few seconds; surely, then he’d feel better. Somewhere in his head, alarm bells rang at that thought, but Dick didn’t really hear them. He just needed a minute...

* * *

The door burst open with a bang, flooding the room with bright, white light. Dick’s eyes opened sluggishly as he tried to focus on what was happening. All he saw were two blurry shapes, though, then his eyes closed again, without him being able to do anything against it.

He wasn’t really cold anymore, either. This probably wasn’t good... But it felt decidedly better than freezing.

Low voices sounded through the room, but Dick couldn’t make out what they were saying. Something soft and so, so warm settled on his arm. It almost burned, and with a soft hiss, Dick recoiled.

The voices took on a worried sound. Somehow, they seemed familiar to him. Dick didn’t want those people to worry, but his head was stuffed with cotton, and his mouth wouldn’t form any words to console them.

For a little while, nothing happened. Then, there was some sort of movement around his bound wrists; he heard a soft “You’ll be ok.” in his left ear; and then the burning touch was back, more tightly than before, and the world tilted as he moved.

Unconsciousness seemed to take a hold of Dick again, because the next time he managed to open his eyes, the light had changed, taking on a softer, warmer tone. He himself felt strangely warm, too, and something heavy lay on top of him, holding him down. Dick flailed. He couldn’t be held down again. It only brought pain, and he couldn’t take any more of that.

Once again, he heard voices, now trying to soothe him. The weight wasn’t removed; instead, something gripped his hand.

“Nnn-nn!” Dick tried, desperately. But nothing changed. Then, he felt a small pinprick in his arm, and darkness pulled him under again.

He didn’t know how much time had passed until he actually became aware of his surroundings again. He remembered small glimpses of different faces over him; the sound of low discussions; the feeling of something covering his face – he’d panicked, until he realized that instead of frigid water, he was breathing in warmed air – and fire racing through his body, burning him from the inside out.

Now, it was night-time, or so it seemed. The room he was in was fairly dark, only illuminated by the yellowish glow of a small lamp in one corner. He heard a faint beeping that his brain immediately associated to a hospital, or any other place in which injuries were treated. That had to mean... Did he get hurt? What happened?

Slowly, Dick tried to sit up. _Agony_ shot through his chest, and then he was coughing, loudly and wet, and couldn’t really stop anymore. His chest and throat burned, and he desperately tried to gasp for air, but didn’t seem to be able to take in any.

Suddenly, images of what had happened came flooding back into his brain. Kaldur, taking him to Black Manta’s ship. The waterboarding. His desperate need to breathe; and his panic when he couldn’t. The icy water. And... he’d been rescued? But by whom?

There were hands on him, holding him up, and someone told him to relax and wait it out. They slowly stroked circles on his sweat-soaked skin, one hand coming up to feel his forehead.

“Your fever has broken. Finally.” they whispered, sounding relieved. After a while, Dick managed to take a breath, then another, and another.

“That’s it, slow breaths. You’re doing great, buddy.” He knew that voice, too. But he couldn’t yet determine who it belonged to.

The hands guided him back down, and slowly, Dick opened the eyes he’d screwed shut with the force of his coughs. He saw a shock of ginger hair, a freckled face, bright green eyes – Wally?

He tried saying his friend’s name, but it felt like he’d swallowed a bunch of knifes. He almost had to cough again, but breathed evenly until the urge had passed. Wally held a glass of water with a straw to his mouth, and gratefully, Dick sucked some in.

“Go slow, man. You’re gonna make yourself sick.” Wally said, carefully pulling the water away.

With a whine Dick felt like he should be ashamed for he tried to follow the glass, but his body felt too heavy to move. Wally placed a soft hand on his chest, not restricting, exactly, more as though he was trying to protect him. “Take it easy. You can have more in a little while.”

That did remind Dick of something. “H-How long...?” he managed to croak out before his voice left him and he swallowed down another cough.

“You were taken five days ago, and rescued about a day later. You’ve been unconscious since then.” Wally paused, and with a start Dick realized there were tears gleaming in his eyes. “It was... it was touch and go, at first. You’ve got a bad case of pneumonia, and for a while you couldn’t breathe on your own. Your fever was dangerously high, and...” he trailed off, but the worry was beyond clear in his voice.

Had it really been that bad? Sure, Dick remembered his lungs filling with water, the tightness in his chest, but surely Kaldur had known what he was doing. He wouldn’t have actively risked his life, right?

“What about... others?” God, talking really hurt. The last time his throat had felt that sore was when he’d been choked by Clayface, years ago. But he hadn’t been the only one who got hurt. He _needed_ to know whether his young teammates were alright.

“Beast Boy, Impulse and La’gaan are alright. Jaime is struggling a bit with his Blue Beetle, but he didn’t carry away any lasting damage, as far as we could determine. The rescue mission went exactly as planned... except for the fact that you were on the wrong side of it.”

Relief flooded Dick’s chest. At least the others were fine. That meant that Kaldur really only did what he had to, didn’t it? And it meant that despite all the less than asterous decisions he made, no one got seriously harmed. His plan had worked.  
And that really was the one million dollar question, wasn’t it? _How_ could the rescue mission have worked out, if there was no information about it that reached the team?

“How... how did you know?” Dick croaked, going into Bat mode. His exhaustion was secondary to the mission. It was time to find a few things out.

“Kaldur sent an anonymous message with the information that was on the drive to the Watchtower. Not even your super-hacker Robin managed to crack where it came from.” Wally sounded bitter. And he didn’t look Dick in the eyes anymore.

But Dick didn’t realize that. He was too glad about how smoothly everything had worked out. His eyes lit up as he asked “So... no one knows? Our secret mission still works? That’s great!” Really, what did his discomfort matter, regarding the bigger picture? They were one step closer to infiltrating the Light, one step closer to finally bringing Kaldur and Artemis home again.

But Wally seemed to disagree. “ _GREAT_? Richard John Grayson, do you even hear yourself? He blew up the cave, and Conner was left there without knowing what was going on. What if he hadn’t managed to get out, huh? He handed La’gaan, Beast Boy, Impulse and Blue Beetle over to the enemy. What if something happened to the kids? Damnit, Dick, _you_ could have _died_!!! Why take those risks, why go to such extremes? You can’t tell me there wasn’t any other way!” Wally was yelling, his face taking on a colour that was even brighter than his hair.

Dick shrunk back a little under the force of his anger, but knew he had to defend himself, had to defend _Kaldur_. There had been no other way. There _couldn't_ have been. Because that would mean that all of their sacrifices had been in vain.

“Kaldur needed to cement his position with the Light, and the Light’s partners. I don’t know why he took me, too, but surely, he had his reasons. And it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

Wally’s answer was an angry glare. “Worked out, my ass. You got lucky he didn’t kill you. Dick, how can you be so blind? How can you know for sure that Aqualad isn’t a traitor, after all? A _triple_ agent??”

A weary sigh left Dick’s lips. He was tired, hurting, and what Wally said brought back all the desperate thoughts that had been running through his own head when he had been in that cell.

“Because Kaldur is my friend. I _can't_ consider that possibility, because it would mean that... it would mean that all I did for the sake of the mission, that it was all for nothing. It would mean that I endangered my whole team, endangered _Artemis_ , for nothing. And... Wally, if I start thinking that way, I don’t think I could continue doing what I’m doing. I...”

Dick broke off when he was shook by another coughing fit, this one so violent it brought tears to his eyes. He curled in on himself on the mattress, and felt Wally’s steady hand on his back. The coughs tore through his body, and it took minutes for him to calm down enough to accept the water Wally handed him. He drank again, more slowly now. His eyelids were drooping with exhaustion.

Wally seemed to realize that their conversation was maybe not the right one for a person who, still sick, could barely keep himself upright.  
“Dick, we’ll continue this later, okay? Get some rest.” he whispered kindly.

“S-Stay...?” Dick croaked back, almost too softly to be heard. He stretched one hand out towards his friend, and only allowed his eyes to close when he felt a warm touch on it.

“Always, buddy.” was the last thing he heard before falling asleep again.

* * *

It took more than a week until Dick was released from his bed, and a lot longer for his coughs to subside. But the first time he set foot outside again – he’d been brought to the Watchtower, and had now zetaed to Blüdhaven to get a few things from his apartment - the sun was shining. Everything looked a little less bleak, then.

The real surprise waited at his apartment, though. Someone had pushed an envelope through the small gap beneath the door, and Dick almost stepped on it when he opened the door. A little dust had gathered on the creamy-white paper, and there was nothing written on the outside.

Sitting down on his sofa, Dick carefully pulled the envelope open, and took out a small sheet of paper filled with graceful, neat letters.

He would recognize this handwriting anywhere. Kaldur.

Dick swallowed hard, the words swimming in front of his eyes. His throat and lungs still hurt, and more often than not, he woke up at night, drenched in sweat from nightmares about ~~Kaldur~~ the water torture.

Was he ready to read what he had written?

He had to be. Kaldur and Artemis were still undercover in enemy territory; he had to check in with them soon. This was as good a start as any, really. So he blinked a couple tears from his eyes, though he hadn’t realized that he was crying, and started reading.

_My dearest friend,_

_I do not expect you to forgive me for what I did, but I was hoping to help you understand my reasoning, so that maybe, one day, you can understand why I felt that those measures were necessary._   
_We have already sacrificed so very much, and two weeks ago, our goal still seemed so very far away. I wished, since the day the mission started, that it may end soon, and worry every day about what might happen next. I felt it was necessary to give as much as only possible to the Light to convince them, and feared that two Meta children, no matter how good they are, may still not be enough, even if our sacrifice felt almost unbearable to us._   
_You are so very strong, my friend, but I decided without your knowledge that I could use that strength to better the odds. I may have known you could handle it, but I consciously chose to hurt you, and to keep you in the dark about it, because there was no time to ask for a change of plans. I knew you would be hurt, and still it was the way I chose._   
_I give you my most sincere apologies for that, and I wish I could give more. You didn’t deserve what I did to you._

_In hopes that someday, we will find time to actually talk about this, and maybe move on to better times,_   
_Aqualad_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't hate me for sorta making Kaldur the villain in that one;) But, really, season two already shows him in this role, and then I get a water torture request... How coudn't I have combined it with Aqualad?
> 
> If you enjoyed reading, I always enjoy kudos and comments <3


	4. Refuse To Fight Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyun2680 requested: Hi! Can you write for "refuse to fight back" protecting one of his siblings? Meaning, Dick has to take a beating in place for one of his siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with the timeline here, since this is set in the time when Dick was Batman and Damian was his Robin, but I still added Jon Kent...  
> But well, that's what fanfics are for... I just really wanted to write the Supersons, so feedback about how I depicted their relationship would be really appreciated (as well as any other kind of feedback, of course(; )  
> Enjoy!!

_How_ had Bruce done it? Back in the days when Dick had been Robin, they had faced crazily dangerous situations, too. For Dick, it had seemed like a game. The blazing colours, honouring his parents as he flew through the air. Quick-witted comments as his first and most-loved weapon against grown men, when he had been nothing but a kid. The night sky over him, a bit like the big top, only infinite.

For Bruce, it had never been a game, of course. Back then, Dick hadn’t really understood just how much careful planning had been necessary, hadn’t known how important it was to think every situation through to the end, to have a contingency plan for every contingency plan.

Robin meant instinct, a sharp mind, decisions made in the blink of an eye.

Batman meant planning, plotting, knowing every decision of everyone involved before they even thought of it themselves.

Dick had started learning about the importance of plans when he’d led the Teen Titans. He’d understood how important it was to know as much as possible before he went on the streets when he became Nightwing, and bore the sole responsibility for himself, and his actions, as well as a whole city.

Now, Dick was Batman. And somehow, he was nothing like Bruce. He kept screwing things up. He miscalculated, misjudged, _misdecided_.

And that was what had led him and Damian, as his Robin, in this situation, too.

Commissioner Gordon had told them about an illegal cage-fighting ring near Crime Alley which served as a front for a group of human traffickers, who staged fights between their captives there. About fifty spectators, maybe half of them armed thugs, Gordon had said.

Batman and Robin had gone to check it out, but Dick, blindly trusting, hadn’t considered the possibility of faulty intel. And that was why the new and not quite as dynamic duo stood facing more than 70 heavily armed thugs, by whom they were shamefully easily overpowered.

Now, Dick found himself bound to a concrete pillar in a large, garage-like underground hall. In the middle of it an arena was constructed, the fighting ring, as Dick assumed, although it really looked more like a cage. It was built from heavy steel bars and a mesh of barbed wire, roughly rectangular and with walls that were easily three times as high as Dick. At the side facing Dick, a gate made of chain-link fence led the only way in or out of the ring.

And that was where they had brought Damian. The boy was snarling, wildly looking for a way out. But the gate was firmly shut, a group of men guarding it and mocking him.

Dick, too, was frantically trying to escape. He had put his Robin in this position. He _had_ to get him out. But his bonds wouldn’t budge, his lock-picks were unreachable, and they had taken away his comm unit, along with all visible weaponry.

At that moment, the whole hall fell completely silent, anticipating tension spreading out. Dick looked around, but couldn’t spot anything that might be different from before.

A voice boomed out of several loudspeakers fixed all over the walls, loud, deep and with a slightly amused undertone.

“Good evening, friends of the _real_ martial arts. Today, you who are gathered here are privileged to see a very special program, something we’ve all been waiting for, if I may be so bold – you see before you... _Batman and Robin_!”

The crowd roared, whistled, jeered in a deafening cacophony. Bottles flew against the fence of the ring, breaking and adding to the noise. Damian looked feral.

“Now... let’s see if the little bird really is as strong as everyone seems to believe. Those ‘heroes’ have made us suffer for years. Now, we shall return the favour.”

This time, the roar of the crowd was victorious. The gate to the ring opened to let several thugs in, and Damian was on them in a flash, a flurry of little fists meeting noses, jaws, ribs. But it was no use. For each one Damian put down two more followed, and Dick could do nothing but watch, utterly useless.

A fist to the abdomen sent Damian flying backwards, and four men held him down on the ground as six more entered and close the gate again. Only then, they got off Damian, who backed up towards the edge of the ring, assuming a defensive stance. Blood from a split lip ran freely over his chin, but he made no move to wipe it away.

Dread curled tightly in Dick’s stomach when he heard the crowd’s exited cheer. They truly were out for blood. And they wanted to take it from Damian.

Robin was carefully watching for every little movement from the men, which were each easily twice his size and four times as heavy, inconspicuously taking stock of which weapons he still had on his person. A single twitch of his eyebrow was the only sign Dick needed. Damian was unarmed, his weapons taken just as Dick’s were. That didn’t mean he was defenceless, of course. But he stood alone against ten grown men.

As Batman, but most of all as Dami’s brother, Dick couldn’t let him fight in these odds.

“Stop!” he called loudly, imitating Batman’s trademark growl to the best of his abilities. It was not quite there yet; would probably never be, if Dick was being honest. But it was close enough, or so it seemed, since the attention of everyone turned towards him, and therefore away from Damian. Good.

“You want revenge? You want to see our blood flowing? In a way, I understand. We must have caused a lot of damage to the businesses of many people here. I’m proud of that.” The crowd roared, and Dick barely managed to duck out of the way of a bottle flying at his head.  
“But choosing _Robin_ over me as the one you want to hurt? That’s pathetic, honestly. You’re afraid that I’ll kick your asses, and hope that he’s too weak for that. But don’t be mistaken: He may only be a kid...” damn, Dami would not take well to that “... but you’ve seen him fight. He, too, will beat your ‘fighters’ into the ground.” Okay, maybe that speech had been more Nightwing than Batman. Sue him. But he _needed_ to convince them. Dick took a deep breath before continuing.  
“Let me take his place. Put me in the ring, and let Robin go. I won’t fight back, and I won’t defend or protect myself in any way. From me, you can actually get the blood you’re thirsting for.”

Dick just really, _really_ hoped it would be enough, because despite his brave words, he was nowhere near certain that Damian could be able to win this fight. Against the ten men currently with him, maybe, though it would take a lot out of him. But they had a sheer endless supply of fighters to take their place, and eventually, Damian would tire despite his exceptional training.

Silence had fallen over the crowd as they regarded Dick with hungry eyes. On the outside he stayed completely calm and collected, glaring back coldly, but inwardly he was rejoicing. They had risen to his bait.

“Well, well.” The ominous voice boomed through the room. “It looks like we have found ourselves a volunteer. But, Batman, keep in mind that if you should break your word in any way, we will make the boy pay for it tenfold.”

That was to be expected. When didn’t they try using threats? But Dick wasn’t intending to fight back. As long as Damian was safe, he could take a beating. At least until they found a way out.

In the ring, a gun was pressed against Damian’s temple. Four men held onto Dick’s arms as another one freed him from his chains. As if he would ever fight back if the life of his brother was threatened!

The crowd jeered at him when Dick was led towards the stage, but his sole focus lay on Damian. He was mostly subdued now with the imminent threat of the gun, but that wouldn’t keep him from throwing dark glares at the people around him. When he turned towards Dick, the older couldn’t read his brother’s expression under the domino mask, but the harsh, angry lines around his mouth and his tightly clenched teeth showed how displeased he was with Dick’s decision. Well, at least he wasn’t protesting aloud yet, although Dick was certain he would hear his part later.

When Dick was led into the ring and moved past Damian, he still said “Stand down, Robin, okay?” He had to stay positive, for Damian. They would find a way out of this situation, even though Dick had no idea how yet.

As soon as Damian was tied to the pillar Dick had stood at before, all eyes focussed on the ring, and on Dick, again. The men had let go of him, and some had left, so that only six people remained in the arena with him. Had he been able to fight, this would have been child’s play. As it was, he forced his body into a non-defensive position, his hands purposefully, carefully relaxed at his sides. This was some of the worst scum of Gotham. Dick wanted nothing more than to beat them into the ground. But he’d given his word, and he wouldn’t break it. For Damian.

A loud whistle rang through the hall, and the look in the eyes of Dick’s assailants turned into something that barely even looked human anymore. The crowd cheered. The men advanced. Dick’s arms itched to be able to rise in order to block the attack, but even though he saw the first swing coming from a mile away, he did not move.

Pain exploded in his cheek and Dick dug his heels into the ground to steady his stance. A second fist hit his stomach, and he spat a mouthful of blood in the goon’s face as the air left his lungs.

“Is that all you got?” he snarled through bloody teeth, straightening up. It probably wasn’t the smartest course of action to goad them even more, but Dick really couldn’t help it. He had always been one to turn his frustration into words.

But now, they all were on him at once. A kick to the back of his legs sent him to his knees. The crowd was ecstatic, cheering the men. For what, exactly? Dick wondered. Six of them were hitting on one defenceless person. They really only were your typical school bullies, if he was being honest.

Dick kept his hands balled into fists at his side, kept telling himself not to move even as kicks rained down on him. It was hard, but he would do it to protect Damian.

Steel-toed boots and gloved fists hit every part of his body, pain exploding simultaneously all over his head, his chest, and his back. Dick gritted his teeth in order not to make a sound when he felt a rib snap.

The beating went on for minutes, until Dick could hear nothing but the rushing of blood in his ears, and the world was tilting precariously in front of his eyes. Succumbing to the continuous hits, Dick finally couldn’t keep himself from falling on the concrete floor.

As if on cue, the men stepped back. Awareness only returned slowly, but the first things he heard were the audience’s scornful calls, mocking him for falling. Like he’d had a choice...

His head throbbed fiercely, and it took his vison a moment to turn sharp again. Eventually, though, he managed to push himself up on his knees, and then to his feet. His left ankle protested at having to bear his weight, and his breathing was strained at best. But his expression under the cowl was strong, his jaw set. He wouldn’t show weakness.

When he glanced at Damian out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his Robin had already rubbed his wrists raw with how furiously he was pulling at his bonds. Blood flowed in red rivulets down his armoured arms, slowly dripping to the floor. Dick’s stomach churned with guilt. Why was he incapable of keeping his baby brother safe? He had made Damian into his Robin to give him a valve to vent his anger and the league’s training. And, now, Dick had known from the start that bringing him into this life meant putting him in danger, but knowing something in theory and seeing it for real were two very different things. He was responsible for Dami. It was his fault if anything happened to him.

But what was somehow even worse was that Damian had to watch this. No matter how emotionally cold he always wanted to appear, Dick could hear that he’d already screamed himself hoarse with cursing the people hurting Dick. The both of them really had made a lot of progress over the past few months of working together. Damian had finally started to accept him as Batman. Surely, the decision Dick had just made – to let himself be degraded in order to protect Damian – was a sign of weakness according to the twisted moral code the League drilled into Damian. The fact that this might throw them back so far in their relationship hurt worse than the blows he’d received.

As soon as Dick had properly regained his footing, the beating continued. Now that they had established for sure that Dick wouldn’t make a move against them thy came at him one after the other, their hits landing with precision and intent, each one aimed to hurt as badly as possible. A fist to the solar plexus that made him curl forward and the wind leave his lungs. They followed with a knee to his face that shattered his nose. Dick stumbled back, hand clasped over his face when his vision blacked out for a moment. Dark-red blood spilled over ~~Bruce's~~ his gauntlets. From afar, he heard Damian yell.

“Hands down.” one of the men snarled, addressing him for the first time. Surely, this didn’t count as protecting himself? But out of worry for Damian, Dick didn’t protest, simply lowering his hands without a word. Big droplets of blood hit the concrete floor. Dick glared daggers at the man who’d talked to him.

His mistake was that he disregarded the rest of the men, and so couldn’t prepare for the next hit. An uppercut threw him back, and Dick silently cursed himself for his inattention. Suddenly, _agony_ exploded in his back, and Dick couldn’t help a choked-off scream. He’d collided with the fence, and even through the cape, the barbed wire had dug into his skin. Gritting his teeth, he tried to pull away from the mesh, but before he could move, a boot slammed into his stomach and drove him back further. His teeth hurt from how hard he gritted them to hide another scream and Dick could taste blood on the back of his tongue because of the pain from barbs burrowing deeper and deeper into fragile skin.

The next attack pulled his legs out from beneath his body. With a ghastly groan, Dick slipped to the floor, his back scraping along the wire and receiving deep gashes which felt like lines of fire eating into him. Dick struggled forward, away from the fence, and barely managed to catch himself on his hands and knees. His back was screaming in pain, and his whole body trembled due to his injured and exhausted state, but the men weren’t done with him yet.

“Get up.” the man who’d ordered him around before demanded. He was the leader of the group, probably, Dick thought. In a fight, he’d be the one Dick would take out first. But they weren’t _actually_ fighting, and so Dick fought to raise his aching body instead, stifling another cry as the cuts on his back pulled in painful unison with his broken ribs.

As his vision swam, Dick shifted into a wider stance, struggling for purchase on the floor. It would be better for him if he managed to remain standing. Fists did less damage than boots, after all.

That didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt, of course. Except for Alfred, there wasn’t really anyone they could rely on to even notice that he and Robin weren’t just on their usual patrol route. And Alfred wouldn’t expect them back for another few hours. Dick knew he wouldn’t last that long. Suddenly, in the middle of this ring, surrounded by enemies and with his only ally, his _brother_ , bound and incapable of any action, Dick felt terribly alone. How was it possible that his whole family had left him? Jason, dead and then returned, filled with rage and pit-madness. Bruce, dead, and not returned at all. And Timmy, who he’d driven away himself because he couldn’t support him any better.

They would have to find their own way out. And Dick had no idea how.

This time, two men stepped behind Dick, holding him up by his arms. It seemed the men didn’t want him to fall, either. Maybe the audience could see him better if he was standing? They were certainly enjoying the proceedings, if their yells and cheers, increasing in volume, were anything to go on.

Once again, fists started slamming into him. More bones cracked, more skin split, more bruises formed. Dick spat out another mouthful of blood, not even bothering to aim at his attackers anymore. He barely managed to lift his head, anyway. His vision was fuzzy enough that he didn’t think he would still be standing if he wasn’t held up.

An especially vicious kick was aimed right at Dick’s right kneecap and he yelled loudly in pain as his leg gave out under him. The men barely managed to catch him now that they were forced to bear his whole weight, and Dick struggled to straighten up again. He didn’t want to show any kind of weakness in front of these men (and, if he was being honest, not in front of Damian, either), but his breathing strained in ragged gasps out of his throat, and the slightest movement of his leg sent spikes of agony shooting from his knee. Bile rose in his throat, and he clenched his teeth, swallowing it back down.

But despite all of his efforts, the men had seen how badly the kick had affected him, and were now abusing this weak point shamelessly. Simultaneously, two men plunged their boots into his knee, one from the front at the exact same point the last kick had hit and one from the back, squeezing his knee in-between. The men holding him chose that moment to let go, and then Dick was falling, painfully colliding with the floor.

Forearms braced against the dirty concrete, Dick tried to get his breathing under control. He wanted to shift off his knee, but somehow lost control over his body in the process, landing on his side in a curled-up position. The world spun nauseatingly around him in a torrent of indistinguishable colours and he closed his eyes, willing down a bout of vertigo. _Everything_ hurt. He couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t think properly, couldn’t really move at all. The only thing still on his mind was a repetition of _Protect Damian, protect damian protectdamianprotectdamianprotect..._

Through a red haze, he realized that his arms were curled up at his chest, almost as though he tried to curl up in a foetal position. No, that wasn’t right... He mustn’t protect himself. In an agonizing effort, Dick stretched his arms out and away from his body, leaving them lying in complete vulnerability. But he didn’t have it in him to move his legs, too. They were in so much pain already...

Apparently the men had decided to leave Dick on the ground, now. It was that much easier to kick him there, after all. Boots flew into him from each direction, one heavy foot stomping right on top of his right wrist. Dick yelled at the white-hot pain. Consciousness was steadily fleeing him, his body unable to do anything but shutting down at the pain it was confronted with.

* * *

Damian’s hands were numb, but he didn’t really notice it. His eyes were fixed on his brother with a laser-like focus. He had watched him being beaten into the ground, cursing Grayson for his stupidity, but deep in his chest, a warm feeling had taken hold of his heart, too. Grayson cared for him. He was the first person who’d ever really stood up for Damian, who really tried to protect him and didn’t just tell him that he had to fight for himself.

Strategically, Batman had made the worst possible decision. But from the point of a loving brother, Damian could see exactly why he’d chosen to do what he did. That just didn’t mean he had to approve of it.

Each time Richard got back up after being beaten down, Damian felt a surge of hope in his chest. But now, he wasn’t moving at all despite all of the violent kicks hitting his body. Worry started to spread in him like a dark grey cloud. I was all too apparent what the thug’s goal was. If he didn’t manage to find a way out, and soon, too, they would surely beat Grayson to death.

Once again pulling at unbreakable bonds, Damian yelled for Batman. His voice cracked on the word, but he was certain that it had been loud enough to carry to the ring. One of the imbeciles pounding on Grayson shot him a nasty, victorious grin. But his brother showed not the slightest sign of recognition, he didn’t even move, except for the way his body jolted limply whenever he was hit.

In his time with the League of Assassins, Damian had been taught never to spare a glance at wounded comrades when in battle. They were liabilities, and as such best discarded. But Grayson, even in his vulnerably unconscious state, didn’t seem like a liability at all. ~~He didn’t want to even think about a life without him anymore~~.

“Batman, get up!” he screamed again, and would never admit that his voice broke for a completely different reason this time. He felt so weak, weak for not being the one who fought the men, weak for not even managing to escape the rope to help his partner. It was Robin’s job to protect Batman. And he was failing him on all fronts.

Damian heard the crunch of breaking bone all the way to where he stood when one of the thugs stomped down on Grayson’s face. Blood was flowing down the prone figure’s body, and Damian felt sick to his stomach. His Batman _couldn't_ go out like this. There had to be something he could do. There was always another way, at least that was what he’d been taught. If he didn’t do anything, Batman would die in that stupid fighting cage. So why couldn’t Damian think of one?

He remembered how relentlessly he had mocked Grayson for his spontaneousness, for how he’d change plans in the middle of a mission. It had been so foreign to Damian, who had grown up under the ever-plotting eyes of Talia and Ra’s al Ghul. And now, it was him without a plan. And unlike Richard, he couldn’t just make one up out of thin air.

Suddenly, Damian remembered something Richard had told him once, about why he was able to seem so carefree. He’d said that with the knowledge that there were others you could rely on, like Oracle, or his brothers, there was no need to be afraid of a change in plans.

Back then, Damian had dismissed him, scowling that an actual warrior didn’t need to rely on others, because he could trust in the perfection of his abilities. Now, he wondered whether Grayson’s words may have held some truth.

But who was he to call? His communication devices had been taken. There was no way to contact anyone outside this room. And the only person in here with him wasn’t even in any state to hear him, let alone be of any help in freeing them both.

Damian had hit another dead end. Or so he thought, because in the blink of an eye, the picture of a boy clad in red and blue flashed in front of his inner eye. Jonathan Samuel Kent.

No. No way he would be calling out for him. There was nothing that _he_ could do that Damian wasn’t more than capable of himself. He would not give Jon the satisfaction of hearing him _beg_ for his help. No. Not ever.

But Grayson lay crumpled on the ground, barely even resembling a human being anymore with how he was curled up. From the distance, Damian couldn’t even say whether he was breathing. And so he realized that his pride wouldn’t be stronger than his ~~love~~ worry for his brother.

“Jon!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, making all attention turn to him. He glared right back, glad to have bought Richard a small break, at least.

“What did you just say?” one of the especially idiotic spectators asked. “Is that, by any chance, the Batman’s name?”

Had the situation not been so dire, Damian might have laughed aloud at that assumption. To assume he would be stupid enough to just call out secret identities in the field...

As it was, he answered with a “Tt.” and a dismissive shake of his head. He might have said more, but Jon chose that moment to make his entrance. Begrudgingly, Damian had to admit that he was impressed. It seemed like the boy was actually capable of reacting on time, at least.

“I’m guessing you need me to be your ticket out of here?” Jon called while circling once around the pillar Damian was tied to.

_Why_ had he called out to that idiot again?

“Tt, Obviously.” he answered, trying to sound nonchalant about it. Something in Jon’s eyes told him that he hadn’t been very successful.

But when Jon started taking out one thug after the other, starting with the ones surrounding Dick, Damian didn’t have it in him to feel ~~envy~~ annoyance about how easily he defeated them. All he felt was overwhelming relief. His... _Grayson_ would finally get the medical help he so desperately needed.

The room fell completely silent once all of the men lay unconscious, Jon moving to Dick to listen to his heartbeat with a tender expression on his face Damian had never seen before. But... Jon didn’t say anything. Did that mean...

“Jon! Get me out of these cursed restrains!” he yelled, breaking through the silence. He _needed_ to check on Richard. Every second spent away from him felt like it was tearing him apart more and more.

It took Superboy a few moments to react, and with each one, Damian felt his heart drop lower in his chest. Surely, Grayson couldn’t be...

When Jon appeared in front of him, his expression was unusually subdued. There were no remarks about how he saved Damian, about how he was so much better. There were no eyebrows raised in a provocative fashion. There wasn’t even a superior smile. Damian feared the worst.

“He is alive, but in a very bad condition. How good is the medical equipment in your cave?” Jon asked, his tone professional yet soft. This must be the Superboy Metropolis knew, Damian realized. This had to be Jon’s heroic side.

“I... we don’t live there anymore. But in the penthouse’s medbay... as good as any hospital. Now, untie me!” Damian didn’t have it in him to be polite.

The laser vision cut through the rope, and Damian didn’t even spare the time for a “Thanks.” He was already on his way through the hall, his legs wobbly in worry. Grayson was always in motion. Damian didn’t think he’d ever seen him so still, not even when he was asleep.

“Batman?” he asked, his voice unsure and soft. He didn’t even know where to touch him without doing further harm. Blood was flowing from split skin all over his face and from his broken nose, contorting his features almost beyond recognition. The cowl was no longer covering all of his face, probably thrown back in some sort of motion. His limbs, still stretched away from his body, looked unnaturally twisted. Grayson really had kept his word about not protecting himself until the very end. Damian was going to be sick. Through the cape, Damian spotted lines of bloodied flesh. With how much force had Richard been thrown around, for the barbs to make their way through the Kevlar weave? He didn’t even want to imagine how many more wounds were hiding beneath the fabric.

Tenderly, Damian placed his fingers on Grayson’s neck, feeling for a pulse. It fluttered weakly under the skin, like the wings of a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest, but it was there. Had Damian not been Damian, he would have sobbed in relief. As it was, he breathed a deep exhale through his nose, not making a sound. But the metal band that seemed to have squeezed his chest loosened a little.

“Jon, can you...” Damian asked, only hesitating for a second. Their rivalry would have to be put on hold for now. He would prove to Jon that he was better, but not if it meant risking Richard’s life.

And Jon seemed to agree. “Of course.” he said, moving closer and squatting down, only to stand up with the grown man in his arms seconds later, cradling him carefully. It was an almost comical sight: The tiny body of Jon, not even half the size of Grayson’s, was almost hidden behind his burden. Laughing was the furthest thing on Damian’s mind, though. Even in his deeply unconscious state, Grayson gave a pathetic whimper of pain.

“Fly ahead. I will be there as soon as I can.” Damian’s every cell revolted against having to lose sight on his brother, but rationally, he knew that it was the best possible choice.

He briefly explained the way to the penthouse, and Jon took off. Damian made his own way out of the warehouse, discovering all of their weapons in a pile at the wall. _Amateurs_ , he thought. This was not how you stored equipment, ever.

He barely took the time to grab his grapple and his two most-trusted knifes, though. They could come back for the rest. There were more important matters at hand.

Damian didn’t think he’d ever flown through the city at such speed. He had no idea how long it took him to reach ~~home~~ the penthouse, but it had to have been half the time as usual, at most. Sprinting into the medbay, he saw that Jon had already arrived, and Alfred was just hurrying out of the elevator, an alarmed expression on his face.

“Master Damian, why are you yelling like that? Have you forgotten your comm...” His eyes fell on Jon, who stood in the middle of the room, and the body (no, not just a body, it was _Grayson_ ) he carried, and he fell silent.

“Oh, my.” he whispered, stepping closer to take in the broken appearance of his eldest grandchild. But then, he took control of the situation, moving towards a gurney and telling Jon to place his load down on it, carrying forth bandages and bowls of water, and carefully cutting the Batman-suit away with special scissors.

The picture that revealed itself was truly horrifying. There seemed to be not an inch of skin that was free of bruises. Richard’s chest looked slightly deflated in places, a clear sign of broken ribs. One shoulder seemed to be dislocated, and the hair under the cowl was matted with sweat and blood, not to mention the way his face looked.

With a small, broken noise, Damian turned away. Bile rose in his throat, and he didn’t have the strength to hold it back. But, somehow, in the blink of an eye Jon stood beside him, offering a bowl without speaking. He didn’t even realize that he’d started crying while he emptied the contents of his stomach. All of this was his fault. Had he been stronger, Richard wouldn’t have seen the need to jump in his place. And now, he was pulling attention away from his injured brother yet again. He was useless, _weak_.

“Lad, did you by any chance inherit your father’s x-ray vision? It could be crucial in determining how deeply Master Dick’s injuries go, and thus deciding on our further course of action.” Alfred addressed Jon, his calm voice cutting through the fog in Damian’s head. He felt Jon leave his side, and turned around himself, angrily scrubbing at his mouth and eyes.

Jon nodded, standing close to the bed. His eyes started glowing as he slowly scanned the prone figure. Alfred had already cleaned the blood from Richard’s face, Damian realized. But he did not look any healthier without it, now that his sickly pale skin and the darkening bruises were visible.

“There are no life-threatening injuries, amazingly.” Jon suddenly declared. Damian heard the blood rush in his ears, so loudly that he almost missed the rest of Jon’s words. His brother would be fine.

“But he has a hairline-fracture of his skull, a bad concussion, a broken nose, cheekbone and jaw, three broken and five cracked ribs on the front, as well as two on his back and a bruised kidney. His left radius and ulna are both broken cleanly through, and some of the smaller bones in his hand are crushed. His right shoulder and left hip are dislocated, his right kneecap shattered and his left ankle sprained. Added to that, there are multiple deep incisions all over his back. The other injuries are... are superficial.” Jon looked a little pale, too. Damian guessed they didn’t have the same lunatics in Metropolis that Batman and Robin faced each night in Gotham.

He saw Alfred exhale, relieved, and then get to work on the long, long list of injuries he’d just been told. Damian stepped closer, intending to help, but Alfred’s soft yet firm hand kept him away.

“Master Damian, why don’t you go to take a shower? I am very capable of handling Master Dick’s injuries by myself, and you know he wouldn’t want you to feel any worse for his sake.”

There was no arguing with Alfred. When Damian had arrived at the manor, he had felt nothing but contempt for the butler who dared giving him orders. It took time, and Richard’s careful explanations, for Damian to accept Alfred’s words for what they were: well-meant, kind advice. And, as he’d learned, Alfred was usually right.

“I will be right back, Richard.” he said, forcing his voice to sound strong. He didn’t know whether he was heard; but he had to do something to feel useful. Richard had to wake up, soon, or Damian would lose his mind.

Jon went with him to the showers, quiet and still paler than usual.

“Is... is it always like that, in Gotham?” he asked, hesitantly.

“What do you mean? Richard surely doesn’t get beat up every day, no.” Damian didn’t have the nerve to answer useless questions right now. He wished to be alone.

“No, I meant... it doesn’t matter. Do you... want my help with your wrists?” Jon closed up completely, now, and Damian was left wondering.

“My wrists? What do you...” he looked at his hands. Only now, the stinging pain started to register. Bloody red bands circled his arms, his gloves crusted with dried blood.

“Oh.” he said, quietly. “No, no, I’m okay.”

But Jon didn’t leave. “Let me help, Damian. You can’t reach your wrists properly with only one hand to wrap them. I will not... think any less of you, I promise.”

“Fine.” Damian snarled. He wasn’t the one needing help. But if it made Jon happy...

In the shower room Damian sat down, pointing to the cupboard over the sink to indicate the location of the first-aid kit. He pulled off his gloves, careful not to look at the other boy. The bright, fluorescent lights burned in his eyes.

“Damian? You’re crying.” Jon remarked quietly. Was he? And really, when he wiped his hands over his face, they came back wet. He turned his head away, embarrassed. Jon didn’t seem to know what to do, either. He stood frozen until Damian had wiped his tears off and, still looking away, said “We will not speak of that ever again. The next time you need help, call for me, and then we’re even. Okay?” He hated how desperate his voice sounded.

But all Jon answered was a soft “Okay.” He kneeled down to clean and wrap Damian’s wrists and, when he was almost done, said “I can hear his heartbeat, you know? It is strong, and steady. Your Batman will recover fully, I’m sure.”

Damian wanted to protest that Grayson wasn’t _his_ Batman, but the words were stuck in his throat. He gave Jon a small, grateful nod in response. It was indeed good to hear, but as soon as he was done here, he would return to Grayson’s bedside to make sure of it himself.

* * *

Dick awoke to blessed numbness, a thick fog separating his mind and his body. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that this wasn’t how he should feel right now, but that didn’t matter. He was thankful for the numbness.

The scent of hot chocolate invaded his nostrils. Had he fallen asleep at the Bat-computer again, and Alfred was waking him up? He heard soft breathing, too fast to be Alfred’s. Dami, then?

“Da...” he croaked. Slowly, the numbness was replaced with growing discomfort. What had happened?

“Richard? Are you awake? Are you... do you need more painkillers?” It was Damian’s voice, alright, but when had Damian ever sounded so frantic? And what did he mean about painkillers? They would certainly be a cause of the numbness in his bones.

Dick tried to crank his eyes open, but didn’t manage any more than small slits. Had he taken a beating? At least now he could see Damian, though his figure still looked a little blurry. There was a bruise on his ~~kid's~~ brother’s cheek, and he looked tired, his forehead creased as though he was unhappy with something. He hadn’t even changed out of the Robin-suit yet, but his mask was down, at least.

“Wh’t happened?” Dick croaked, weakly trying to extend one hand towards Damian.

But the boy didn’t answer right away; instead, the creases on his forehead deepened, and he pursed his lips. The expression on his face was unreadable.

“Why did you do it?” he asked at last, biting his bottom lip and staring right at Dick’s face.

Why did he... Oh. _Oh_. The underground cage-fighting club. His offer to be taken instead of Dami. He had probably watched it all. Had seen Dick being beat into the ground. Had seen his weakness, had heard it in his screams. How did they get out? But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was Damian.

“How couldn’t I have done it?” Dick responded, his voice as soft as he could possibly manage. “You’re my little brother, Dami. I’d never want anything to happen to you.”

It dawned on him that there were tear tracks on Damian’s cheeks. Was it possible that, instead of being angry, Damian had been _worried_ about him?

“Hey, little D, I’m alright. C’mere.” His left arm felt incredibly heavy, and twinged unhappily even through the haze of painkiller as he moved it, but that didn’t keep Dick from extending it invitingly in Damian’s direction.

The boy only hesitated for a second before climbing onto the bed as well and, ever-so-carefully, curling into Dick’s side.

No more words were needed between the two of them right now. Dick knew that Damian was still unhappy with the choice he’d made. They both knew that he’d never choose any differently if confronted with the same situation again. But those were topics that could be dealt with at a later time. Right now, all that was important was that they had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you thought;)


	5. Take Me Instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TheLittlestHutson requested: Ooooh something with Birdflash either 5, 7, or 14 would make my heart so happy. Just some good old feels and Wally worrying about Dick because he’s a self sacrificing bastard <3
> 
> I decided on 5/Take Me Instead...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I could try to find excuses for why I didn't finish this chapter last weekend. The truth is that I spent probably more than half of my free time reading all the incredible Whumptober fics, and therefore didn't take as much time for writing as I could have.
> 
> In my defense, however, this chapter is, like, twice as long as the others, because... Well, because I'm an absolutely hopelessly whumpy person, and I kept adding more and more horrible things.  
> Also, I really went all out on this one. It's probably at least twice as dark as the others, complete with an ambigious ending. I hope I still did the request justice; there are definitely loads of feels in there, but only few of them are actually good. Sorry not sorry haha;-)
> 
> Last, but definitely not least: A trigger warning for short mention of suicidal ideation; read the End Notes if you want to know what happens. This is a dark fic. Please stay safe.
> 
> With that being said: Enjoy! *evil laugh*

This was the first weekend in months on which the team didn’t have a mission. The kids had taken to the beach, planning on a day of swimming in the sea, making a campfire and unwinding for the first time on a long while. Dick was so proud of their progress, really. Months of training and multiple missions had forged a bunch of teenage rowdies into an actual team, one where everyone knew that they could trust each other with their life. The success was always overshadowed by Kaldur’s ‘betrayal’, of course. But today, Dick didn’t want to think about what was yet lying in front of them. Today, he wanted to be happy, too.

Dick had decided to spend his day off with his boyfriend in Central City. He’d surprised Wally with a homemade breakfast in bed, arriving at their home before he even woke up.

For a few months now, ever since Wally had left the team, they lived together in a cosy house at the outskirts of Central City, but Dick still spent more time at the mountain than there, overwhelmingly busy with leading the team. He tried to free at least a few hours a day to come by, but it was never as much time as they’d like. And so a whole day off which they could spend together seemed like paradise on earth.

If only it was that easy, though.

Vigilantism had a way of catching up to you. If you’d once led the life of a hero, there wasn’t really any way of fully escaping it. As Dick and Wally cuddled in bed, the radio running in the background on a low volume, Dick suddenly perked up as he heard something.

“Wally, can you turn the radio up?” he asked, half-sitting already. The sheets they’d covered themselves with flew to the floor as Wally was on his feet in a flash, turning the volume up and immediately sitting next to Dick again, who was listening intently.

“... a bank robbery on Fifth Avenue. Police reports speak of eleven hostages being threatened by the armed men. So far, we do not have any further information, but the police forces are working on a way to disarm the threat and free the people. So, dear citizens of Central City, you should best stay away from this area, and we will keep you posted as soon as we know more.”

“No.” Wally said immediately, looking at Dick with puppy eyes. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking. Right?” But he knew he’d lost.

“C’mon, Walls, it’ll be fun. Just you and me, okay? It’ll almost be like a date.” Dick jumped out of the bed and made his way to his duffle bag. Of _course_ he would have brought his Nightwing suit, Wally thought.

“I sorta imagine dates to be, like, on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. You know, candlelight dinners instead of the flare of gunfire, the clinking of champagne flutes instead of the breaking of glass...” But Wally, too, was already moving to where he’d stored his suit. Ever since he’d left the hero business, he’d had nightmares about all the people he saw on TV or heard about on the news which he’d basically _chosen_ not to safe. Despite his worries, Dick had been very understanding about it, encouraging him to live his own life. But if he was asking Wally to come with him, he couldn’t actually say no.

Dick laughed, his chuckle still as cheerful as it had been when they’d first met. “We can do all of that afterwards, if you want.” He said, moving over to Wally who was freeing his suit from cobwebs and dust. How was it possible that he could dress so quickly? Wasn’t Wally supposed to be the speedster here?

In order to show off, Wally dressed in record time, leaving both Dick and himself in a cloud of dust once he was done.

“Geez, Wally. If I ever encounter a villain with a dust allergy, I’ll make sure to call you.” Dick laughed, his thumb sweeping softly over his boyfriend’s check in order to wipe away a speck of... something.

Playfully, Wally swatted his hand away, calling “Race you to the bank!”, and off he went. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t miss the feeling of the wind sweeping over him, the look of the city moving in slow-motion around him. He didn’t regret the decision to retire, no; but he’d never forget the fun being on patrol could be, either.

Dick arrived less than a minute after Wally on the scene of the robbery, his hair wildly tousled from the wind and a little sweaty from how much he’d hurried. His cheeks shone brightly red, and Wally imagined his eyes to glow happily under the mask. He’d never looked more beautiful to him.

“So, what’s the plan?” Wally asked, as serious as he’d ever get for the sake of the mission.

Dick smiled at him, answering “We move in stealthily, take a closer look at the situation, and decide based on what we find out. ‘kay?”

Wally nodded, and they entered the bank through a window in the back, walking through eerily quiet halls that would usually be crowded with people. In the foyer they finally laid eyes on the muggers. There were six of them, wearing strange masks that showed human faces with extremely condescending facial expressions: their fake lips turned down into a scowl, the eyebrows lifted and the fake eyes looking to be stuck in the middle of an exasperated roll. They looked crazily real, and a light shudder ran over Wally’s spine.

“How can they stand looking at each other all the time, with these things on?” he asked in a whisper.

Dick only shrugged, his sole focus on the scene in front of him. Each of the men held a machine gun pointed on a group of people huddled on the marble floor of the bank. They were a mixed bunch: an old, white-haired lady sitting half-collapsed next to parents with children, bank staff kneeling in front of businessmen in fine suits.

Dick gritted his teeth. The thugs stood too close to the captives. Even with Wally, it could not be said for certain whether they would manage to disarm all of them without a bullet piercing a civilian.

At that moment Wally shifted, and the soles of his shoes screeched on the polished floor. He froze for a second, muttering “ _Shit!_ ” under his breath. Dick was tense as a bowstring beside him, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice.

A loud, howling laughter resounded from one of the thugs. He turned around, carelessly moving his gun away from the captives.

“Well, well. Look who’s there. Not even the big speedster himself; no, he sends his offspring after us? Disappointing. But we’ll take what we can get.”

For Dick, the pieces were suddenly moving into place. The whole deal was a trap to, for some reason, catch the Flash. And really: two of the thugs now each pulled up a kneeling person, their guns pressing against trembling heads and teary cheeks.

“Surrender yourself, Flash-boy, and your buddy in black and blue there, too, and they will not be harmed. Try to come at us and, well, you’ll have to live with the consequences.”

Dick clenched his teeth. “There’s nothing you can do, is there?” he asked Wally under his breath, already knowing the answer. They’d have to allow them to take them, and then make for an escape later on.

Wally shook his head in response, whispering “I’m sorry.”

Dick just shrugged. There wasn’t anything they could change about the situation now, anyway, and if one of them were to blame, it would be Dick for dragging an untrained Wally, who hadn’t been on a mission in _months_ , out in the field.

His hands raised in surrender, Dick moved from the cover of the hallway, Wally close behind him. His eyes met those of a young girl, no more than fourteen years old, who had tears running down her cheeks. He gave her a comforting smile. At least the civilians would be safe at the end of the day. Missions could end much, much worse. And once he only had himself (and Wally, of course. He would never let anything happen to him) to worry about, escape would be easier.

Two more of the henchmen stepped forward as soon as they came to a stop in front of who Dick supposed is the leader of the group. Their hands were pulled behind their backs, a Belle Reve inhibitor collar fixed snugly around Wally’s throat, and then two syringes with a clear liquid poked into their necks. Everything inside Dick strained against letting himself be sedated, but for the time being, he pushed his training down deep into the back of his mind.

Soon enough, the world turned fuzzy in front of Dick’s face, Wally’s slack features the last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him.

* * *

He came back to the land of the living on a rough stone floor, pebbles and creases digging into the skin of his cheek. His head felt like it was bursting, and bile rose in his throat before Dick could even attempt to control his body’s reaction to waking up after being forcefully put to sleep.

He could immediately identify the symptoms he could feel on himself; the nausea churning in his stomach, the throbbing in his head, the all-too-loud rushing of blood in his ears. A (relatively) mild overdose of some kind of a run of the mill sedative. Quite possibly, the dosage had been intended for Barry Allen’s metahuman-metabolism, if their kidnapper’s words were anything to go on.

Thinking about the events leading up to this, Dick was suddenly reminded of the other person he’d been with when captured.

“KF?” he croaked, wincing at the disgusting taste coating his tongue and the acidic burn in his throat. He steeled himself for opening his eyes, knowing that even a small light source would magnify his headache considerably. But he needed to check on his boyfriend.

Carefully cranking his eyes open, Dick was thankfully met with an extremely dingy room, the only source of any kind of light being a small slit of a window maybe fifteen feet over him in a concrete wall. He lay close to said wall, curled up in a messy position, as though he’ been carelessly thrown into the room. A pathetic puddle of vomit had formed under his chin, reeking horribly and almost making Dick sick all over again. At least he’d miraculously managed to miss his suit. Thank God for small blessings, Dick supposed.

Slowly, inch by inch, Dick pushed his body up. By the time he came to rest sitting with his back against the wall, a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead and he had to close his eyes to fight the vertigo overwhelming him. Why didn’t these two-bit criminals ever manage to measure up the right amount of whatever they were trying to get into his system, if they already thought they had to hit him with strange substances?

When he had gathered the resolve to open his eyes again, Dick finally managed to take a closer look at the cell they were held in. It was small, only roughly twelve by twelve feet, but very high, with the ceiling being at least twenty feet over them. Maybe that was so they couldn’t reach the window? Or, even more probable, the room they were in was underground, and they had felt the need to build so high in order to fit the window in the first place. Three walls and the ceiling were made of rough concrete that scraped the exposed back of Dick’s neck whenever he moved, but the floor consisted of bare slabs of some sort of natural stone. That could only mean that they were in the cellar of an old building which had been reinforced more recently to suit the needs of the new owner, who was – quite probably – their kidnapper. Had Dick been in Gotham, he might have been able to figure out the location of the building from the way it was constructed alone, but he did not have any such knowledge about Central City.

Finally, he spotted Wally’s unmoving body near the fourth wall, which was built from metal bars and also made up the entrance to their cell. Dick could barely make out his bright red hair in the semi-darkness, but his attention was immediately drawn to the collar around his neck which reflected the light from the window, stinging in his eyes.

“KF!” Dick called, his voice growing stronger. But there was still no reaction, and so Dick used the wall to prop himself up until he stood on shaking legs and then stumbled over to the prone figure, falling to his knees beside him.

“Hey, baby, can you open your eyes for me?” he asked, his voice soft and caring. Guilt churned his stomach. He should never have insisted on taking Wally on a mission, especially not since he’d never once voiced the wish for it since his retirement. And now, his carelessness had led to their capture.

Way to go for their first full day together in months, really.

With a soft moan, Wally stirred, subconsciously leaning into the hand Dick had placed on his cheek. A wave of warmth flooded Dick’s chest.

“Hey there.” he whispered, relieved. Wally opened sluggish eyes, squinting up at Dick. He seemed to be faring much better than Dick had, though, despite being under for a longer time. Maybe the collar only blocked his actual abilities, like his speed and faster healing, but not the inner workings of his body?

“Hey, Rob.” Wally answered, using the old nickname while gladly accepting the hand Dick gave him to move into a sitting position. “Quite the mess I got ourselves in here, ain’t it?”

He tried for a smile, but Dick could read the underlying emotions clearer than any book. Wally, too, felt guilty. And he was afraid, his eyes darting around the room in barely perceptible, jerky movements and a minute shiver in his voice.

“Don’t worry about it, man. If anything, I brought us in here. But c’mon, we’re a great team, right? What better relationship bonding is there, than breaking out of a captivity situation together?”

Wally laughed, shoving Dick playfully.

“Alright then, my great leader, what is our next move?”

Yep, Dick was definitely working on that. But his lock picks and weapons were taken, ALL of them, which was quite the amazing feat, really. He’d have to give their captors credit for that, at least. But without them, he was fairly lost. With his wrist computer, he could have hacked and disabled Wally’s collar. With his lock picks, he could have at least opened the conventional padlock on the door, and then use his computer to disable the electronic locks. A well-aimed jab with his electrified escrima sticks would have done that job, too.

“Still working on that, KF.” he said, critically looking Wally over. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’ll live.” Wally smiled. “But you know I will hold this absolutely _underwhelming_ idea of a date against you for the rest of eternity, right?”

Just as Dick was about to give a smart retort, an opening door could be heard in the distance. Their captors were coming.

“You okay with letting me do the talking, KF?” Dick asked, his voice coiled with tension. Kidnapping situations were always kind of strenuous. Even with how often Dick had woken up tied to a chair, or hanging from the ceiling, or lying on the floor in a dingy cell – there really was no getting used to it. And things always went south much, much faster than he’d like. This time, his guilt about dragging Wally into this situation only added to his stress.

“Course.” Wally whispered, and then the door to their cell was opened. Dick jumped up before his brain even really progressed what he was doing, his fist flying in the first man’s face in an attempt of freeing them both. Before Wally even managed to join him, though, Dick found himself faced with the dark barrel of a gun right in front of his forehead.

He suppressed a curse, instead backing off with his hands raised in surrender. He’d be of no use if he was dead.

“Well, you’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” one of the men asked. They still wore the infuriatingly identic masks, but Dick thought he could recognize the voice as that of the leading man who’d commanded their capture in the bank.

“Get down on your knees, and put your hands behind your head, or _my_ friend here will put a bullet through _your_ friend.”

Dick had no choice but to comply, moving to kneel down next to Wally. He did not take his eyes of the masked face, though, trying to stare the man down.

“What do you want?” Dick’s voice was icy. How dare these assholes interrupt the perfect day he was about to have with his boyfriend?

“Well, to be honest, we kind of expected someone who was a bit higher up the food chain to turn up. But, since it seems the Flash now sends children to do his dirty work... His brat will have to do. You see, we’ve always wanted to see what you so-called heroes are made of. Find out how much you can bear, so to speak.”

Dick’s heart froze in his chest. What kind of mess had they gotten into here? This wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill _‘What’s the real name of you and your friends?’_ kind of deal. No, these lunatics planned on torturing Wally, _his Wally_ , just for the sake of hurting him. He was _not_ going to let that happen. Wally was... not only his boyfriend, which would be plenty enough of a reason for Dick to go through fire for him. No, Wally was also still shocked every time they were met with the unadulterated evil some people were capable of. He hadn’t grown up in Gotham, where even civilian kids learned to run from danger before they even went to school; no, his environment had always been that of Central City, bright, sunny, and with dangers so unlike Gotham. He wasn’t weak, far from it, really, but he couldn’t handle torture the way Dick had learned to from a young are. And now that he had left the hero business, Dick would do everything that stood in his power so that he never had to even come close to any such situation again.

Steeling his resolve Dick spoke up, his voice a provocative snarl. “Well, since you seem so interested in us heroes, I suppose you have heard of the Batman? You wanna test a hero’s endurance, you should choose him.”

The leader looked down on him. It bugged Dick beyond everything that he was incapable of reading his real expression. And staring down these condescending, unchanging masks got old real soon.

“Thanks for the _great_ idea, really. But I don’t see the Bat anywhere around.”

Dick gasped in mock offense. “Oh, I’m hurt! Don’t you recognize me?

At that moment, Wally seemed to catch up on what Dick was trying to do. He poked Dick in the side, half-whispering “What the hell are you planning on doing?” His face looked horrified, even more so when Dick just smiled briefly at him before retuning his attention to the thugs.

He imagined that the leader would have closed his eyes into slits behind his mask, considering Dick. His head was cocked to the side like that of a curious chicken, at least. Finally, recognition seemed to strike.

“You’re that Batbrat, aren’t you? The one running around with the other pathetic little heroes. Would you believe that we caught ourselves _two_ hero-kids?” He was laughing, the same ugly sound as in the bank.

Wally’s breathing picked up. “Don’t do it, Rob.” he begged under his breath.

Dick turned towards him, looking as reassuring as he could manage. “Don’t protest, KF. I know what I’m doing. It’s okay.” he answered, smiling softly again in lieu for touching Wally like he wanted to. But Dick still held his hands behind his head, and he wouldn’t take them down until the gun pointed far, far away from Wally’s freckled face.

“That’s me, alright. So I suggest you try taking me instead, and see if breaking a hero is as easy as you imagined.” Dick gave the men a cocky smile, consciously trying to get them mad.

And it was working, alright. The leader’s hand formed into fists, and he jerked his head in a command for his men to take Dick. Wally jumped up, yelling “ _No!_ ” but beneath the anger Dick could hear his voice quiver in fear. A fist flew into his sternum and Wally, so very used to his speed as a weapon, did not manage to dodge it. He curled over, wheezing, and Dick jumped to his feet, stepping in front of Wally.

“I’ll come with you, okay? Just don’t hurt him.”

The men grabbed his arms, roughly twisting them behind his back. Dick’s expression stayed stony. They led him out, and the last thing Dick heard from his boyfriend was a rough, breathless call.

Dick was led down long, equal-looking halls, grey concrete enveloping him from all sides. He forced himself not to struggle, and did not pay the men’s jabs and sneers any heed, instead focussing on his surroundings. Maybe he could plan an escape route, at least... But the halls stayed exactly the same, and all he could do was counting the turns they took. Left, left, then right. Straight ahead past two turns, then left again.

The men stopped in front of a solid metal door, which the leader opened with a key card. The inside of the room looked like a proper torture dungeon. The ceiling was exactly the same height as it was in the cell they’d woken up in, long chains hanging from a winch, manacles at the bottom. The walls were covered in torture equipment, ranging from various knifes over whips and canes to heavy metal bats and wooden mallets.

Only now, Dick started fighting, twisting in the men’s hold. Blinding pain exploded in the back of his head, sending him to his knees. Through blurry vision, Dick spotted a police baton in the hands of the leader. He spat a glob of blood from where he’d bitten his tongue on the floor.

“No funny business, of we’ll take the other one.” an emotionless voice told him. Dick was pulled back to his feet, the manacles fit around his wrists. He didn’t struggle. The chains pulled up until he had to stand on his tiptoes in order to take some weight off his wrists.

With one of the knives in is hand, a man stepped in front of him, wordlessly cutting through Dick’s suit. He took a deep breath, looking straight ahead. The matter of the removal of the suit was always a bit of a touchy subject for every vigilante. It was what defined them; part of whet gave them strength in battle. The only thing worse would be removing his mask. But it at least didn’t seem like their intension to do that. Yet.

Once Dick was left in his boxers, the man stepped back. They regarded Dick silently, their masks unchanging, and he twisted his lips up in a provocative smirk.

“If you wanted to get a closer look, you could have just asked. Over a glass of wine, y’know? I’m sure I could have pencilled you in for an appointment.”

The slightly frustrated huffs he received were _so_ worth the pain of the fist hitting his cheek. And making them mad at him was the best plan he had right now; it was the only insurance he had to protect Wally.

This was what he kept in mind when the first hits landed on his unprotected skin, bruising easily. He rarely appreciated just how well his suit was protecting him. The hits felt ten times stronger without the Kevlar weave between them and his body.

Within twenty minutes, Dick was panting heavily, bruises covering his face, chest and abdomen. He was fairly certain that at least one rib was broken, since the leader of the thugs had kept the baton in his hand, swinging it with abandon. Blood flew from his nose and a split lip, mixing with the sweat that ran over his face. His legs were trembling from holding his body on his tiptoes under the onslaught of the beating.

Finally the leader put an end to the beating, his goons stepping back, leering at Dick. He swallowed once, and then said “Is that really all you can do? My little sister can hit harder.”

Okay, maybe it was unfair to compare them to Cass. No one could compete with her, anyway. But it was fun to see how easily they were enraged by his comment. The goons seemed like small children, overeager to please their leader, always fearful to count for less in his eyes. They were not who Dick had to be wary of.

The leader, meanwhile, had moved to the wall and just returned with a delicate little knife, the sharp blade glinting in the white light.

“Let’s see if I’m better than your lil’ sister with a knife, then, if our beating skills fail to impress you.” he said, smirking gleefully. There was a dangerous light in his eyes, visible through the holes in the mask, rivalling the glint of the knife’s edge.

Dick was careful to control his breathing when the knife was put against his cheek. He stared the man in his face, his expression level and cold, not betraying the fear fluttering in his chest.

“What would a vigilante like yourself miss, hm?” the man pondered, his voice dangerously sweet. “An eye? An ear? Your never-quiet tongue?”

Dick couldn’t keep himself from twitching a little. This was getting _very_ serious _very_ quickly. He’d really like this lunatic to stay away from any really important parts, thank you very much.

“Or maybe not quite yet. I can think of a few other places to start as well. But keep my question in mind. We’ll return to it at some point.”

With these words, he plunged the knife into Dick’s shoulder, down to the hilt. Pain shot up his arm and Dick jerked back, barely clamping down on a moan before it left his throat. With a flick of his wrist the man twisted the knife in his joint, and agony seared like fire through muscle and bone, Dick’s vision whiting out in pain.

When the knife was pulled out again, followed by a gust of dark-red blood, Dick couldn’t help the pained noise slipping from his mouth. The man seemed pleased, almost smug, but he didn’t comment on his success. Instead, he took the knife to Dick’s chest, putting just enough pressure on the blade for the tip to sink right beneath the skin.

“You still with me?” he asked, not moving the knife. In response, Dick spat bloody saliva on his mask. It ran down the fake cheek, distorting the ugly features even more. Dick was tired of not knowing what his captors looked like, tired of constantly being looked at with condescension, as fake as it may be.

Satisfied with his answer, the man now pulled the blade through the skin of Dick’s chest, leaving shallow, stinging lines behind. They wouldn’t take long to heal, nor were they overly painful by themselves; but when the eighth line crossed the muscular pecs, the pain had spiked up enough for Dick to hiss softly.

The man pulled away without a word. The time for jabs and conversation was over, as it seemed. From various places all over Dick’s body he pulled blood, alternating between stabs and cuts, shallow and deep wounds, ragged, torn edges and neat, precise cuts. Dick’s head started spinning from blood loss, and soon, he was incapable of holding back his moans and other sounds of pain.

“Once I hear you beg, I’ll stop.” his torturer finally stated, his voice still conversational.

It took all Dick had right now to lift his head in order to send a glare his way, but he did it anyway. “I hope you’ve stored some provisions in this hellhole of yours, then. You’re in for a long, long period of waiting.”

In response, the man jammed the knife in Dick’s right thigh (the left was covered in a cut already), careful to miss the femur artery. Dick felt burning agony when the knife scraped over bone, and then the world faded around him.

* * *

After they took Dick out of the cell, Wally was left alone in the dim light. He’d tried all he could possibly think of to free himself from the collar, to open the door, or to use the slit of a window as escape route, but to no avail. Hours must have passed since then. No sound reached the little cell. He had no idea about where they’d taken Dick to.

When he heard shuffling footsteps in the distance, Wally jumped to his feet, almost stumbling in his hurry to reach the metal bars of the gate. In moments like these, he absolutely detested being a speedster. Time passed so, so slowly sometimes...

Finally, he could make out four figures moving closer. The one in the front bore a torch, white light illuminating the darkness and blinding Wally, whose eyes had gotten used to the lighting conditions of the cell track. Two others held a limp body between them, dragging him forward. Dread settled heavily in Wally’s stomach. What had they done to Dick?

The group came to a halt in front of the cell door, and ice raged through Wally’s veins at a closer look of his boyfriend. His suit was gone (How _dare_ they strip him?), there was blood everywhere and every inch of free skin seemed to be covered in bruises.

“Step back, on your knees.” a cold voice ordered. Wally didn’t even think about resisting, too focussed on the injured figure. He stumbled backwards, his knees hitting the floor with a bang he didn’t even feel.

The door opened, and Dick’s limp form was thrown into the cell. Wally jerked forward to catch him, but again, he underestimated his non-enhanced speed. Dick groaned softly when he fell, but made no move otherwise. Next, Wally was met with a faceful of medical supplies.

“Patch him up, if you don’t want him to die.”

The men left after banging the gate shut. The sound seemed so final to Wally that it almost made him sick. But there were more important things to be done.

On his knees, Wally shuffled over to the prone body, softly placing his fingers on Dick’s pulse point. His heart beat steadily, but a bit weakly. No wonder, with the sheer amount of blood he’d lost.

“NW? Hey, baby, open your eyes for me, alright?” Wally cooed softly. Dick groaned again, opening bleary eyes.

“W-Wall?” Dick croaked. Wally had exposed his face, so that Dick could see his worried green eyes and his ginger hair sticking up in all directions.

“Hey, babe, I’m here.” he said. I’ll try to help you, alright?”

Dick winced, nodded slowly, then whispered “You... ok?”

Suddenly, Wally realized that he was _mad_ at his boyfriend, more than he’d been, like, ever. How could Dick lie to him about something like that? _I know what I'm doing; it's okay._ Yeah, right.

“Are you seriously asking me if _I'm_ alright right now, _Dick_? You told them to torture you instead of me, without even asking for my opinion on the matter. You don’t get to be concerned about me right now. I spent _hours_ in here, worrying about you, not even knowing if they’d bring you back!”

Dick seemed to recoil a little on the floor, his bruised face turning into a sad frown. “I’m s’rry.” he mumbled, looking up to Wally through eyes that were swollen into slits. “I thought...” A weak cough broke out of Dick, his throat hoarse from the strain of hiding his screams and the lack of water on top of the blood loss.

Wally took a deep breath, slowly exhaling through his nose. Yeah, he was mad at Dick; but he could never be so mad at him that he’d abandon him when he was so clearly in need of help. And if he was being honest, Wally could even understand why Dick did what he thought he had to do. The part of him that had curled up in a corner of his consciousness and was crying and whimpering in fear was desperately grateful, even.

“Look, we’ll talk about it later, okay? Lemme help you for now, and then we’ll see how we go on.” He gathered up the bandages that were strewn across the floor, stacking them at one wall. Then, he moved to Dick, who just pushed himself up on trembling arms, rising to his knees, at least.

With Wally’s help, Dick managed to stumble over to their new ‘camp’. His right leg didn’t seem to be able to bear his weight, blood still running freely over his pale skin from a deep wound in his thigh. With every step, Dick wheezed out a painful-sounding breath, and he gave Wally a grateful look once he’d lowered himself down to the floor again.

The so-called first aid supplies consisted of little more than a bunch of bandages, some raw alcohol for disinfection and a needle and rough threat in lieu for a proper suture kit. Wally had never sewn a wound shut before. And there wasn’t even water or a cloth to clean the copious amounts of blood off Dick’s skin.

“Baby, I need you to stay with me, alright?” Wally addressed Dick. “I might need some help here.”

Dick’s eyes had just closed, but he cranked them open again at the sound of Wally’s voice.

“S’tures?” he asked, weakly gesturing to the wound on his leg, the cuts criss-crossing his chest, his bleeding shoulder.

“Exactly. You might have to talk me through it, alright?”

Dick nodded, and Wally got to work. Focussing on the explanations Wally needed from him seemed to bring some awareness back to Dick. His voice evened out, and his eyes, though still as bruised as before, seemed brighter. Wally was worried about his pale complexion and the sweat matting his hair, though. Dick was a tough cookie, but bearing the disinfection of his cuts and all those stiches on top of his multitude of wounds without any kind of painkillers was taking its toll on him, too, that much was obvious.

Both Dick and Wally were exhausted by the time all of the injuries were tended to, to the best of their abilities, anyway. Dick’s head was sagging on his shoulders where he sat, and Wally moved to sit beside him, carefully manoeuvring Dick to lie down in his lap. He really wished he had something to cover Dick’s body with, since he was trembling on the cold stone floor, but his suit was built in one piece as well, and thus wouldn’t have helped Dick anyway. Wally could do nothing but rub the patches of unmarred skin he could find in an attempt of giving Dick some warmth.

“D’you find an escape route?” Dick suddenly mumbled, peering up at Wally. He looked incredibly tired, and Wally honestly didn’t know how he kept himself awake right now. But then again, he’d never understood the crazy training the Bats put themselves through. He’d seen Dick do many, many more things that would have seemed impossible for literally anyone else.

“No, we’re stuck for now. Sorry.” he answered, giving an apologetic smile.

“No, I’m sorry.” Dick insisted, taking up their earlier conversation. “I wanted to help you. Didn’t want to get you hurt... You don’t deserve it. I love you, Wally.”

Wally didn’t know when they’d stopped using their code names. It didn’t matter either way, since their captors honestly didn’t seem to care. Despite stripping Dick of his whole suit, they had not touched the mask.

But whichever way Dick addressed him, he could not let his words stand like that.

“I appreciate your sentiment, you self-sacrificing idiot. I really do. But you do know that you don’t deserve to be tortured either, right?” He bent down to press a soft kiss to Dick’s sweaty forehead.

“I know. But I’m in t’life. Y’know, as vigilante. You shouldn’t have to put up w’this anymore.” Dick’s voice was slurring more and more. Still, Wally knew that there was no changing his mind. Dick would protect him, no matter what. That was a law of nature, and Wally couldn’t change it any more than he could keep the earth from turning around the sun.

Moreover, he got more grateful that he wasn’t the one beaten within an inch of his life by the minute. Seeing Dick in pain physically hurt him, a deep, throbbing ache in his chest, but he knew that he could not have stayed as strong as Dick was right now.

“Thank you, Dick. I love you, too.” he whispered, putting every ounce of emotion he felt in those few words. “Rest now, alright? You’ll need the sleep.”

His permission seemed to be all that Dick needed. Within a minute, his eyes had fallen shut and his breathing evened out. Wally wasn’t too far behind, either, the stress catching up to him and plunging his body in a deep, exhausted sleep.

* * *

When the first rays of the morning sun peeked in through the small window, their captors returned. Wally woke up from the banging of the metal gate, but saw that Dick was already up, standing readily in front of Wally, facing their opponents.

He seemed more aware than he’d been the other day. His skin had regained some of its usual colour, and he stood by himself, which seemed like a great feat in itself. But the colour of the bruises on his skin had deepened, ugly patches of black and purple covering his skin like a disease.

“Rob?” Wally asked, his voice rough from sleep and the lack of water. Dick turned towards him with a soft smile, saying “New day, renewed fun. See you later, KF.”

Wally knew why he said what he did, why he tried to seem cheerful. It was Dick’s weapon against the unrelenting foes, his way of fighting back without endangering Wally. He wished he could do something, anything, to help Dick. But he knew that it would be useless. Machine guns were still pointed at them, ready to shoot at the faintest mistake. He remained sitting, helplessly watching as Dick limped away. Another day of waiting had started. And it would pass no differently than the last had.

Wally still didn’t find a way out. The worry intensified by the minute. At one point, he heard a ragged scream. _What_ were they doing to Dick? The only thing changing was how much Wally was plagued by thirst and hunger. Their kidnappers, who had apparently planned on taking Barry, seemed to have no idea about how differently his speedster metabolism worked. He needed much more food than an average human.

Hours later, the sun having travelled far over the sky (Wally could do little more than watching the rays of light move over the concrete, anyways), the men returned. Wally was just lying on the floor, trying to count non-existent cracks in the bare concrete ceiling, when the door flew open.

Dick was conscious, but barely. He groaned softly in the men’s hold, struggling to stand on his own. There were more bloody wounds, more bruises. Wally jumped up, and was ready to catch him when the men pushed Dick forward. He felt his boyfriend tense in his hold as all of his wounds were aggravated from how he’d been thrown in Wally’s arms.

A bucket of water was set down right at the gate, a bunch of bandages beside it. The men left without another word.

Again, Wally was left with trying to minimize the long-term damage done to Dick. They talked even less today, Dick being too exhausted to even try to stay alert. And they were only on day two; with no apparent way out of this hellhole. How long wold it be until someone realized they were gone and decided to check up on them? How long until they were found, and freed? ~~How long did Dick have left, if the way he was being treated didn’t change?~~

Finally, Wally tried to rouse Dick in order to get him to drink something. The formerly light grey stone was covered in red bloody splotches, and somehow, Dick would have to replace all the blood he’d lost.

Dick’s face was contorted with pain when he finally managed to open his eyes. He had to clear his throat several times before he managed to speak, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Wha’?” he croaked, his eye straining to focus on Wally. They could probably add a concussion to the long list of injuries.

“I needed to know how you’re holding up, baby. And they left us some water. You should drink something.”

Wally helped Dick to sit up and lean against one wall. Several fingers on Dick’s right hand were broken, crushed as though someone had stomped on them (maybe that had been why he’d screamed so loudly for the first time?). Wally scooped up some water in his own hands, helping Dick to drink in that way. He didn’t know when they would next get any water; they’d have to make this bucket last for as long as possible, no matter how much Wally would have liked to clean Dick’s skin, at least a little.

Dick drank slowly, carefully. The cool water did not taste great, but it felt heavenly going down his sore throat. He almost whimpered when Wally stopped after four or five gulps.

“Easy, Dickie. You’re gonna make yourself sick.” he said, taking a few swallows himself. But Dick was right; once he’d started drinking, he didn’t want to stop anymore.

They stayed sitting at the wall for a while, every few minutes sipping another bit of water. Dick was almost dozing off, the ache all over his body somewhat bearable now that he wasn’t moving. Suddenly, a loud grumbling noise tore him from his daze. Wally shifted at his side, seeming self-conscious.

“Wall... ‘s that your stomach?” he slurred, concern suddenly filling him. How long was it possible for Wally to go without food again? Less than a week, that much was for sure. If only his head hadn’t been so fuzzy. He couldn’t focus!

“Don’t worry about it, babe.” Wally answered. He didn’t need to burden Dick with the knowledge of how bad he was feeling himself, since Dick’s injuries were so much worse than a little stomach ache.

“Y’ need to eat!” Dick insisted anyway, propelling himself up with what seemed like a tremendous effort. Wally pulled him back down, shushing him.

“The water helped some. And, anyway, since I’m not really doing anything all day, it’s fine. I’ve got some time left before it gets critical.” Damn, that wasn’t exactly reassuring, now, was it?

“T’morrow.” Dick said, his voice sounding utterly sincere, like it was a promise he made to him. “T’morrow we’ll... get some.” It got harder and harder to stay awake. Dick cuddled up closer to Wally, and the last thing he felt was a soft kiss on his forehead.

* * *

The next days passed in much the same way. As soon as sunlight started illuminating their cell, the men came back and took Dick with him. From day to day, Wally got more desperate. After each torture session, Dick was less responsive, and it took longer every day to patch him up.

Food finally arrived on the fifth day they spent here. By then, Wally was so drained, so starved, that when Dick was pushed back into the cell as usual, he couldn’t even twitch a finger in his direction, and only stared at his boyfriend through foggy vision, tears streaming down his pale, sunken cheeks. A loaf of bread got thrown in the cell. Wally followed its flight with his eyes, mesmerized by the scent that he thought he could smell, even though the bread looked too old to have any kind of odour left, really.

No matter how hard he tried, however, his body wouldn’t listen to him as he tried to move in any way, to reach Dick, or the food, or both. A tiny, hitched sob tore out of Wally’s throat. If there was no miracle he would starve, mere feet away from a perfectly sufficient meal. And if he starved, Dick was more than likely to bleed out. They _couldn't_ go out like this.

“D-Dick!” Wally croaked, his hoarse voice breaking on the one word. Another sob escaped him.

“Dick! D... _Please..._ ” His voice tapered off. Dick wasn’t moving.

Until, suddenly, his eyebrows twitched, and a pained moan left Dick’s throat. He weakly flailed his less injured arm through the air, keening “Wally...”

This time, his sob was one of relief. “Dick, hey.” he whispered, trying to draw his attention. It must be terrifying for Dick to come to on his own, cold, hurting all over, with no clue about whether he was back in the relative safety of their cell, or still in the clutches of his torturers.

And indeed, it was hard for Dick to focus through the pain. But this was Wally’s voice talking to him. And if there was one person he’d always listen to, it was his boyfriend. So he slowly, agonizingly, turned his head to the side. What he saw hurt almost as badly as his innumerable bruises and wounds. Wally looked so sick it was breaking Dick’s heart. His usually healthily reddened face looked as grey as the wall behind it, his eyes lying deep in their sockets, the shadows beneath it swallowing the vibrant green.

Wally looked as though he was dying.

“Wa’y, love, what...?” Dick asked. He painstakingly pushed his body over to lie on his stomach, reigniting the agony all over his body. Standing up wasn’t an option. Wheezing for breath, but determined to help, he tried pulling himself forward over the rough stone slabs, swallowing back moans of pain.

Wally’s mouth moved, but no sound escaped. Dick stilled, focussing on the beautiful, soft lips as they desperately tried to form words.

F...Foot? No, that couldn’t be right. What could it be that Wally needed? Dick really was too tired, too hurt, to concentrate. Suddenly, his own stomach made an undignified noise, and the pieces fell into place.

The speedster needed _food_ , and desperately. But where was Dick to get it from? He’d tried asking, almost begging their captors for food during their ‘sessions’, but to no avail. Could it be possible that they left some now, after all?

And really, in the corner furthest from them, he spotted an old loaf of bread. This could be their salvation! But it was so, so far away, and Dick’s body complained about every breath he took.

One look at Wally strengthened his resolve, though. He _would_ save him, even if it cost him his life. Dick started pulling himself forward, his eyes trained on his goal.

In the end, he had no idea how he managed to cover the distance, or how long it had taken him. But somehow, the sensation of sheer pain all over him was suddenly disrupted by a soft, slightly squishy texture at the tips of his broken fingers. The bread!

This time it was Dick who sobbed, relieved. With a movement he would have thought impossible in his condition, he pulled his body forward the last few inches to properly grab the loaf. His arms collapsed under him. He’d made it. Now, there was only the matter of getting the food back to Wally.

Black spots danced wildly in Dick’s vision when he tried to turn over onto his back. It seemed impossible to focus on anything, Wally’s prone body little more than a washed-out yellow-red spot in the greyness of the cell. With a desperate movement, Dick flung the food in his direction. He heard a dull thud, and then nothing else.

For Wally, even the act of picking up the bread and putting some in his mouth, not to mention chewing it, had been a herculean efforty. His body was literally void of energy. But Dick needed him, and he would not abandon him, ever.

It still took Wally well over an hour to gather enough strength to rise up, the sun having set long since. Pale moonlight illuminated Dick’s limp body. On shaky arms, Wally crawled over to him. Small puddles of blood had formed beneath the worst of Dick’s wounds, but the man was out cold, not even twitching when Wally softly manipulated his body to treat the deepest cuts, before he sank down to lie on the dirty floor himself, spooning Dick to share some body heat.

How much longer could they survive under these conditions?

* * *

They would have to for much longer, as it turned out. For the first seven days of their capture – Wally was keeping track by watching the shift of sun and moon – their torturers solely depended on fists, batons and knives to torture Dick. He would mock them for their lack of creativity whenever he found the strength to speak. But he would be lying if he said it wasn’t effective. By the end of the week, there was not an inch of his skin that wasn’t layered with bruises ranging from old, faded yellow ones to fresh contusions that bore a purple-blue hue. New cuts, freely bleeding, crisscrossed others that were already scabbed over. Despite Wally’s efforts, several of them were infected. The wound in Dick’s shoulder bled anew every day after he was hung from it for hours on end.

Dick was exhausted, and hurting. He was ready to go home. His body was close to breaking, even if his mind might not be yet.

On day eight, things took a turn to the worse. Wally had grown used to hearing no sound from wherever they took Dick. The occasional scream would tell him that something horrifying must have happened. Today, Dick started screaming less than an hour after they had taken him, and he _wasn't stopping_. His screams turned hoarse, ragged, and finally, faded out of Wally’s earshot.

When he finally heard the men shuffle through the corridor leading to the cell, his nerves frayed, Wally noticed that something was different, too. Usually (And how terrifying was it that Wally already thought of a _usually_?) there were sounds of shoving and taunting, if Dick was conscious enough to somewhat walk on his own. If he was unconscious, Wally would hear the slide of his naked feet over the concrete floor, and the strained huffs of the men who pulled him along.

Today, he heard low whimpers. _Dick's whimpers_ , although he would never show his pain in front of his captors. From Dick, who was always so incredibly strong. _What_ had they done to him?

Wally caught Dick the moment he was pushed through the door. The force of the shove sent them both to their knees, where Wally was left to figure out what had happened.

There were no apparent fresh wounds on Dick’s body, except for a small trail of blood coming from his lip, which looked flayed from how hard he must have bitten on it. Dick trembled horribly, though, his teeth clattering and every muscle seeming overtensed, almost cramping.

Wally carried him over to their, by now well-established, resting place where bandages, water and food lay at the ready. He was so damn scared for his boyfriend. A week ago, he had barely been able to lift Dick in his arms, not even talking about carrying him for a prolonged period of time. Now, he seemed to fit perfectly in Wally’s hold, having lost far too much weight with the constant stress and lack of food.

Dick’s sleep was restless, continuous trembles shaking him. His fingers had a cramping hold on Wally’s dirt-streaked suit and beads of sweat covered his forehead as he tossed and turned weakly.

For hours, nothing changed. Wally had dozed off into a light slumber himself, with his boyfriend still wrapped securely in his embrace, when Dick opened bleary eyes, blinking up at him.

“Wall...” he whispered, his voice breaking. Wally was awake in a flash, softly stroking Dick’s cheek, trying to convince both of them that everything was as alright as it could possibly be.

“Hey, babe. Wanna tell me what happened?” he asked, his voice full of love and concern.

Dick struggled to speak, the spasms of pain which shot through his body making it hard to concentrate.

“E-elec... T-they sho-shocked...” he croaked, clenching his teeth through another bout of agony from his cramping muscles.

Wally was horrified. What voltage did they use on Dick to leave him in such a state? He was probably lucky to be alive. Wally didn’t even want to imagine the sheer agony the shocks must have caused.

The worst memory of an electric shock he received was from his childhood, where he’d touched the fence of a bull pen. He’d sunken to his knees, his whole body jittery, and had cried for minutes, not least because he couldn’t comprehend the concept of something invisible, for a boy his age even inexplicable, being capable of hurting him.

The voltage they had used on Dick must have been so much worse, he thought. The pain was unfathomable.

“God, Dick, I’m so sorry.” Wally whispered, holding him more tightly. What did these people want? Who were they to decide that they could just cause the person that was most important to Wally pain, only to satisfy their twisted fantasies? Dick was the best, kindest, bravest man Wally knew. He did not deserve any of this.

* * *

But their captors did not care about that. Like clockwork they returned every day, their condescending masks soon becoming a common aspect of the vigilantes’ nightmares. Every day, the pain got harder to bear, withstanding the torture sessions became more difficult, and patching up the multitude of wounds damn near impossible.

Dick was flogged, burned, drowned; he was put under the influence of various drugs, sometimes being caught in a haze of horror for days on end.

While at the beginning, hearing Dick scream was the worst possible sign for Wally, he now dreaded the moment the cries stopped because it meant that Dick didn’t even have the strength left to make noises of pain.

More often than not, Dick would barely be conscious throughout the nights in the cell. Wally had to convince him to eat, Dick’s appetite long since gone from exhaustion and constant pain. What little he ate, he often vomited up again.

Their existence had become nothing but the desperate attempt to survive, with their sanity somewhat intact, until the morning sun shone though the slit in the wall to announce another day. The conditions they were forced to live in were getting continuously worse. The whole cell _reeked_ of human excrements, since they had no place to relieve themselves in. Their bodies were no better off; washing was out of the question. Water and food barely sufficed to keep them alive. They could not afford to waste a single drop.

The only comfort Dick and Wally found was in each other. Over the long, long hours Dick spent alone with his torturers and in tremendous pain, he thought of Wally, tried to keep his picture, the feeling of his arms holding him, at the forefront of his mind. A wall, to shield him from the horrors of reality. Wally, on the other hand, listened anxiously for every sound that might indicate Dick’s return, always ready to catch him when he came.

Their time together was filled with little talking, but many, many touches. Wally’s careful fingers, treating every injury to the best of his abilities. Dick’s cold, clammy hand, gripping Wally’s tightly. Wally’s finger in Dick’s sweat-matted hair. Dick’s tired head in Wally’s lap. Sweet kisses, tasting of blood, puke and despair, but still feeling like home.

Alone, either of them would have broken a while ago, or so they thought. The hope of rescue had fled. Wally still kept careful count of the days passing; but in the end, time didn’t matter. In here, it was a relative concept, anyway. The hours they spent apart from one another would stretch into an eternity; peaceful moments spent together passed far too quickly.

But even when Dick got too weak to stand up himself, he refused to let Wally take his place. Without hesitation, he faced the horrors of each new day, and tried to reassure Wally with a small, broken voice when he would cry at night in despair and fear. Dick would do all that was in his power to protect Wally, and yet his heart ached for how much his boyfriend had to bear so far. Wally had been free, out of the vigilante lifestyle for so long. He’d made his choice. Dick _never_ wanted anything like this to happen to him. And now that they were in this situation, the least he could do was to take care of him to the best of his abilities.

Over the time of their captivity, Dick had not cried even once, not when he was conscious and free from the influence of drugs, anyway. The pain may be wreaking havoc on his physical state, but he wouldn’t give the men the satisfaction to see his mental health crumble.

But the constant torture wore him down, and on the sixteenth day (or so Wally said; Dick himself had long since lost count) even he could not hold back his tears any longer.

By now, he was too weak to walk by himself. His left leg was broken in two places, and the deep stab wound in his other thigh was infected, burning and stinging with every slightest movement. Rough hands on his arms dragged him along the now familiar route and into the room he’d grown to fear.

Today, he wasn’t hung from the ceiling. A wooden chair was placed in the middle of the free space, heavy manacles fixed at the legs and armrests. When he was locked in, their captors didn’t even bother with restraining his legs. Usually, Dick would have laughed about such an obvious underestimation of himself. But sadly he had to admit to himself that they were not wrong in their estimation of him, now. Even the thought of moving his legs made bile rise in his throat.

The masked leader stepped in front of him, regarding him with condescension. (Yeah, it was only his mask. But why did Dick have to force himself to remember that?) The expression grated on his nerves. He would never have guessed what a strong aspect of mental torture the way you were regarded could be. ~~By now, he found himself secretly wondering what he’d done wrong for them to look at him like that.~~

The man did not speak, having stopped taunting Dick a while ago, roughly around the time he became too weak to mock them. In his hand, he held... an electronic razor?

With calm, controlled movements, he neared Dick’s head. Suddenly, panic flooded his body. Why did they want to take his hair? What were they playing at? He shook his head in a pathetic attempt to dislodge the man’s grip. His hair was part of what made him _him_.  
Rationally, he knew that it would grow back. It should be so much easier to bear than the cuts, burns and bruises. So why did his chest feel tight? Why was his heartbeat thumping in his ears? Why was he wasting precious energy fighting something with so little meaning?

But it did have meaning. Somehow, the attempt to cut his hair felt to him like they took all choice out of his hands. He was no longer the one in control of his body.

“Leave me ‘lone!” he croaked weakly, trying in vain to twist his aching head away. A surge of dizziness swallowed him. Hands gripped his head, pressing down on old and new wounds. Dick barely felt it. He had to get away!

An amused chuckle resounded from the leader of the sadistic group. “You’re so filthy, we really have no other choice.” he jabbed, switching on the razor.

Dick felt a wave of humiliation. They treated him like nothing more than a dog, completely disregarding his personality, his _humanity_. He... he could stand pain. But this seemed to hit him on a completely new level.

The blade touched the skin on the back of his head, and Dick flinched away violently. Had he not been held, there would be blood flowing down his back from a cut now, he guessed. The small vibrations of the razor made bile crawl up in his throat. “N-No!” he cried, desperately trying to pull away. Soft hair landed on his naked shoulders, itching in his wounds as it made its way down his back. The strands left goose bumps in their wake. Dick shuddered. His head suddenly felt very exposed, the slightest whisper of air palpable on the naked skin.

His struggles went unheeded as the razor drove over his head again and again. Dick screwed his eyes shut tightly when he saw a little black cloud pass through his vision. He couldn’t watch his Grayson-black hair disappear like that, falling to the cold, hard floor ~~the way his parents did all those years ago~~.

He did not know how much time had passed until they stepped back, admiring their work. Dick’s chest felt crushed, the breath wheezing harshly though clenched teeth. He didn’t seem to be able to take in enough air. His head felt cold, but his face was glowing. His heart had frozen, but his lungs burned.

“Open your eyes.” a rough voice commanded. Dick refused, shaking his head, his eyes squeezing shut more tightly.

“Do it, or you’ll spend the night here, and your friend will be left wondering why you’re not returning.” This got his attention. Wally. Wally needed him. He had to do what they said.

Hesitantly, Dick opened his eyes, careful not to look down to where the strands had fallen. His vision was slightly fuzzy, and it took him a moment to focus on what he was shown. Once he did, he could not help a chocked-off whimper.

A mirror stood in front of him.

His head looked like a poorly plucked chicken: the leftover stubble varying in length, making him appear slightly mad. In a few places his skin had been nicked, and bloody scabs covered these parts.

His cheeks shone wetly with hot tears.

With one rough movement, one of his torturers pulled the mask away. Dick’s eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, with deep, dark bruises underneath. He looked utterly broken.

An unwanted sob pushed its way up through Dick’s throat, his despair looking for an outlet. It was... it was all too much. His personality, his identity, his status as a hero. What more could they take?

Laughing sadistically, the men filed out of the room. Dick stayed alone in the overwhelming silence, with nothing to keep him company, other than that broken figure in the mirror. He gritted his teeth as hard as his cracked jaw would allow. He couldn’t let this shatter him. They wouldn’t hear his sobs, not now, not ever.

He closed his eyes. This was okay. This was nothing. He was alright. There was no one here to hurt him, or taunt him, or make his life any more difficult. It was just him, and a mirror. As long as he didn’t look, he’d be fine.

But even with his eyes closed, Dick felt how utterly... _naked_ his head seemed. The skin around his eyes felt weird, exposed for the first time in weeks of constantly being masked. The soft fluff left on his head sent faint shivers down his spine whenever a faint breeze ruffled it.

What was the goal of this? Had they wanted classified information, Dick would have known how to guard it from them. Had it been his name, or the identity of Batman they were after, Dick would have found ways to mislead them. If they were kidnappers going after Richie Grayson-Wayne, he would have known the proper protocol for how to act. But this... they hurt him, merely for the sake of hurting him; humiliated him, merely to see how far they could push him. The only thing that kept him going, that prevented him from crumbling into a broken, sobbing mess was Wally.

But what did he even try to protect Wally for anymore? There was no way they could get out of here by themselves. If rescue hadn’t come in the past weeks, it was less likely that anyone would find them with each passing day. If this was what their existence had been reduced to – suffering, slowly withering away until the men got fed up with them, or until they themselves succumbed to the harsh reality and died – what use was there in even continuing trying to live another day?

With a gasp, Dick tore his eyes open. What the _hell_ was he thinking? He could not start going down that path. It would mean that he’d given up. And he could not do that. It wasn’t only his life on the line. Bruce would be devastated with losing another son. He would leave the team alone, now that he’d finally been on a good way of forging them into a great group of heroes. Kaldur and Artemis would be left alone in enemy territory.

And Wally. If he gave up, _Wally_ would be all alone. Dick knew that his boyfriend, being the kind, soft person that he was, wouldn’t last long under this conditions. Not alone.

Dick steeled himself, raising his gaze to look at his reflection. He had to swallow against the taste of bile and a heavy lump in his throat, threatening to choke him. Unwanted tears filled his eyes, again. He could barely even recognize himself anymore. His reflection looked lost, broken, _weak_. His vision blurring more and more, Dick desperately tried to make out traits of Nightwing in this stranger’s face. Sunken, pale cheeks, nothing like his usual tan. Bruises and scabbed-over cuts. Those were familiar, but usually, his skin would at least be free from browning smudges of blood by the time he looked into a mirror after a rough battle. Deep bags of exhaustion under his eyes. Those adorned him as Nightwing often enough, too, thanks to sleepless nights. But the eyes that looked tiredly out of the bruises were the most startling change. Their normally vibrant blue had dulled, red streaking the white parts. His pupils were dilated, giving him a scared, insecure look. And the tears... they rose again, and Dick was powerless to stop them when they ran down his cheeks, stinging in the cuts.

Weakly, desperately, he tugged at his bonds. He wanted out! With every second that he had to look at his refection, his chest felt tighter. Breathing got more strenuous, until Dick was wheezing for air. Somehow detachedly he watched himself panic in the mirror; his eyes opened widely, his mouth desperately gasping for breath. Small sobs left him on every exhale.

God, he had to get himself under control. But he couldn’t, every glance at his reflection renewing his panic with vigour. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving him drained.

By the time the men returned, Dick had cried himself to exhaustion. He didn’t know how much time had passed; whether mere minutes or hours had gone by. All he knew was that he wanted to get out of the room. He wanted to be held, to be comforted. He wanted Wally.

They picked him up, pulling him along. Despite himself, despite knowing that they’d already seen his face, and didn’t care either way, Dick tried to shield his eyes from their glances. With a mocking laugh, his arms were pulled down and away. Soft strands of hair rained to the floor when Dick stood. He could barely swallow back a whimper at the sight.

And then, they reached the cell. They reached Wally. He stood right there, his arms welcoming, but a look of terror on his face. Dick didn’t want to be reminded of the way he looked. Not again. As soon as the men had left, he buried his face in Wally’s shoulder, and sobbed and cried.

Helplessly, Wally stroked his back, muttering soft reassurances under his breath. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, the only thing holding them up being the other’s hold.

* * *

Things kept getting worse. Even when he was awake, Dick would have periods where he was barely lucid, mumbling incoherently, caught in feverish hallucinations. His infected wounds and constantly being cold due to his lack of clothing had finally gotten the better of him.

They barely recognized each other anymore. Their faces looked gaunt, haunted; their cheeks sunken in from a lack of nutrition. They had lost weight, and colour ~~and hope~~.

And still, the men took Dick with them every day. When Wally had asked him, begged him to let himself be tortured, Dick had spoken the most he’d said in days.

“No, Wally. I won’t let you do that.”

He’d sounded almost like himself.

The day after, exactly one month had passed. ~~If Wally’s count was still right, that was; he wasn’t really certain of anything anymore.~~ Dick returned with a brand, easily two inches in diameter, on his cheekbone. It didn’t show any clear symbol, no. Seemingly random lines crisscrossed each other. This wasn’t a sign of ownership, or even one of victory. All they intended to do was humiliate Dick further.

They cried themselves to sleep, too drained to even try to speak. Their touches grew weaker, muscles degenerated and limp. Still, they held on to each other.

The hope of rescue was long since abandoned. All that counted was staying alive, for one more hour, one more day, one more week, so that the other wouldn’t die.

* * *

Dick no longer tried to hide his tears and sobs from his captors. All his energy went into just keeping himself awake, alive.

Currently, he was tied up in a strappado position, his shoulders drawn painfully behind his back. The chain they hung on was fixed on a winch, and had already been pulled so far up that Dick had to bend his upper body forward at more than a ninety degree angle to keep his shoulders from dislocating. His toes strained under his whole bodyweight, barely able to keep him upright. But he was completely aware of the consequence of them giving out under him. It was a definite fact that his shoulders would dislocate somewhere in the near future. Still, Dick tried to put the event off as far as he could. He might only be prolonging his suffering, but he just didn’t have it in him. Each time he experienced a new pain, he was certain that his body couldn’t possibly take any more of it.

Breath straining though constricted lungs, Dick whimpered out the only sound of pain he was currently capable of making. It hurt, it hurt so bad...

An ominous creak. Agony exploded in Dick’s shoulders as the chain pulled that one inch higher, and his body couldn’t support the position any longer. With a horrible crack, Dick’s shoulders bent in the wrong direction, his wrists now facing towards the ceiling. He _screamed_ ; a hoarse, ragged sound he hadn’t known he could still make. Fire in his shoulders, pain, agony; his feet, firmly planted on the floor again now that his shoulders had given out were struggling to hold him up, to relieve even the tiniest bit of it. He sobbed, whimpered. Ragged gasps escaped him.

 _No more, no more, nomorenomorenomore..._ was all he could think. The pain didn’t cease in the slightest.

Suddenly, his head flew to the side, his cheek stinging. Dick cried out weakly, opening his eyes. A mask – it was always a cursed mask, wasn’t it – swam though his vision. A voice broke though the haze of pain, sounding annoyed. Had they thought breaking a hero would be an easy job?

“You just have to beg, hero boy, and it will all end. On stop, one please, and we _will_ end this. We will finally kill you, and your friend. You won’t have to suffer anymore.”

It was hard to understand the meaning of the man’s words, Dick’s whole existence centred around the agony cursing through his body. When he finally realized what he was being offered, he could not deny the appeal of it. He _hurt_ , so badly, and that wouldn’t ever change. They would never get out of here; they would never be free. They would never feel better again.

No. _NO_.

If it was just himself, Dick would have probably taken the offer. But Wally was here, with him. He wouldn’t let him die. As long as Wally lived, there was hope. Maybe, one day, their captors would slip up; one day, Wally could get free. Dick was almost certain he wouldn’t be around to experience that himself. But there had to be a chance. It _couldn't_ have all been for nothing.

And, anyway, Dick was reasonably sure he was unable to speak at this point.

He said nothing; just let his head hang down, pushed his legs under his body with a desperate heave, and steeled himself to keep on holding on. He would endure, minute for minute, day for day.

The chains were pulled up higher, twisting his dislocated shoulders. His scream was silent, mouth opened wide but no sound escaping. He would hold on, even if he was already broken.

* * *

Days passed, weeks passed, until not even Wally had any idea of how long they’d been there. They had been taken in summer. Now, chill winds blew though their small cell every so often.

He didn’t understand why they still went through the trouble of taking Dick to their torture sessions every day. He was completely incoherent, barely even reacting to Wally’s careful touches anymore. What was it that they wanted from him? Why couldn’t they just _stop_?

* * *

So when the door to their cell flew open once again, Wally couldn’t have said for the life of the man he cradled in his lap how much time had passed. He pressed himself more tightly against the wall, holding on to the still form more tightly, his pulse racing a mile a minute. A steady stream of _No, please no!_ filled his mind. It would be no use. They always pried Dick out of his arms and carried him away anyways.

But it weren’t the never-changing masks that he was faced with. Instead, colourful suits filled the small cell, Dick’s teammates storming in, yelling out for their leader.

There was no reaction, not even the faintest twitch coming from the broken body.

And Wally couldn’t help but thinking that rescue came too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: In the process of being mentally and physically tortured for a prolonged period of time, Dick wonders about why he is even still fighting, and thinks that his existence there is not really worth living. When he's offered to be killed by his captors, he briefly considers agreeing.
> 
> Okay, I'm going to go hide now. Yell at me in the comments, if you want.
> 
> Also, I could probably write an equally long sequel about the aftermath, and Wally (and Dick?) healing. I think I won't, though...


	6. Author's note

Hey guys,

I guess you were all waiting for a new chapter, but for now, I'll have to disappoint you. I've decided to cut back some on my online life in order to focus more on myself and my relationships in the real world. But I'm very intent on continuing and finishing this Bingo at some point, because y'all have sent so many amazing prompts, and I am still looking forward to writing and fulfilling them. 

In that sense: Stay safe and happy, and stay tuned!


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